SONG-SURF 

C./LE  rOUNG  RICE 


_J  ?(, 

'0    I 

I  5-| 


SONG-SURF 


By  the  Same  Author 

Nirvana  Days 

Yolanda  of  Cyprus 

A  Night  in  Avignon 

Charles  di  Tocca 

David 
Many  Gods 


SONG-SURF 


BY 


CALE   YOUNG   RICE 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
MOMX 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,    IQIO,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE   &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHED,    SEPTEMBER,     IQIO 


TO 


MY  SISTERS 


FOREWORD 

These  poems,  first  published  as  "  Song- 
Surf  "  in  1900,  by  a  firm  which  failed  before 
the  book  left  the  press,  were  republished 
with  additions  as  the  "lyrics"  of  "Plays  & 
Lyrics,"  by  Hodder  &  Stoughton,  of  Lon 
don,  in  1905.  Revision  and  omissions  have 
been  made  for  this  volume  of  a  uniform 
edition  in  which  they  now  appear. 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

WITH   OMAR 3 

JAEL 16 

To  THE  SEA 22 

THE  DAY-MOON 25 

A  SEA-GHOST 27 

ON  THE  MOOR 29 

THE  CRY  OF  EVE 31 

MARY    AT    NAZARETH 35 

ADELH, 38 

INTIMATION           40 

IN  JULY 41 

FROM   ABOVE 44 

BY  THE  INDUS 45 

EVOCATION 47 

THE  CHILD  GOD  GAVE 49 

THE   WINDS 51 

TRANSCENDED 54 

LOVE'S  WAY  TO  CHILDHOOD 55 

AUTUMN 57 

SHINTO 58 

MAYA 60 

ix 


x  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  JAPANESE  MOTHER 62 

THE  DEAD  GODS 64 

CALL  TO  YOUR  MATE,  BOB-WHITE      ....      68 

THE  DYING  POET 70 

THE  OUTCAST 73 

APRIL 76 

AUGUST  GUESTS    .        .       . '     .       .       .        .        -78 

To  A  DOVE  .        ......        .        .        -79 

AT  TINTERN  ABBEY      .  .        .        .        .        .81 

OH,  Go  NOT  OUT       .        .        .        .        ;        .        .83 

HUMAN  LOVE       .        .        .        .        .        .        .  85 

ASHORE         .        .        ....        .        .        .86 

THE  VICTORY       .     "  .        .        .        .        .        .        .88 

AT  WINTER'S  END       .        ...        .        .        .89 

MOTHER-LOVE      ....       ,       .       .        -91 

To  A  SINGING  WARBLER      ....        .        -93 

SONGS  TO  A.  H.  R. : 

I.    THE  WORLD'S,  AND  MINE      .     •  «     •  .  95 

II.    LOVE-CALL  IN  SPRING     .        .       .  .96 

III.  MATING   .        .        .....        .        .        -97 

IV.  UNTOLD   .        .        . 98 

V.    LOVE-WATCH 99 

VI.    AT  AMALFI      .        .        .       .        .        .  -99 

VII.    ON  THE  PACIFIC     .        ...        .  .    101 

THE  ATONER        ...        .        .        •       •        •  •    i°3 

To  THE  SPRING  WIND  .        .       ...       .  •    104 

THE  RAMBLE i°S 

RETURN .».  •    108 

LISETTE                         .        .        .       •       .        •  -"I 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

FROM  ONE  BLIND 113 

IN  A  CEMETERY 114 

WAKING 116 

STORM-EBB 117 

LINGERING 119 

FAUN-CALL 121 

THE  LlGHTHOUSEMAN 123 

SERENITY 125 

WANTON  JUNE 127 

SPIRIT  OF  RAIN 129 

TEARLESS I31 

SUNSET-LOVERS 133 

THE  EMPTY  CROSS i35 

UNBURTHENED 137 

To  HER  WHO  SHALL  COME 139 

STORM-TWILIGHT J42 

SLAVES T43 

AVOWAL  TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE i44 

BEFORE  AUTUMN T47 

FULFILMENT J49 

LAST  SIGHT  OF  LAND iS1 

SILENCE *53 


SONG-SURF 


WITH  OMAR 

I  SAT  with  Omar  by  the  Tavern  door, 
Musing  the  mystery  of  mortals  o'er, 

And  soon  with  answers  alternate  we  strove 
Whether,  beyond  death,  Life  hath  any  shore. 


"Come,  fill  the  cup,"  said  he.     "In  the  fire  of  Spring 
Your  Winter -garment  of  Repentance  fling. 

The  Bird  of  Time  has  but  a  little  way 
To  flutter  —  and  the  Bird  is  on  the  Wing." 


"The  Bird  of  Time?"    I  answered.    "Then  have  I 
No  heart  for  Wine.     Must  we  not  cross  the  Sky 

Unto  Eternity  upon  his  wings  — 
Or,  failing,  fall  into  the  Gulf  and  die?" 
3 


4  SONG-SURF 

"  Ay;  so,  for  the  Glories  of  this  World  sigh  some, 
And  some  for  the  Prophet's  Paradise  to  come; 

But  you,  Friend,  take  the  Cash  —  the  Credit  leave, 
Nor  heed  the  rumble  of  a  distant  Drum/" 


"What  !    take  the  Cash  and  let  the  Credit  go? 
Spend  all  upon  the  Wine  the  while  I  know 

A  possible  To-morrow  may  bring  thirst 
For  Drink  but  Credit  then  shall  cause  to  flow?" 


"  Yea,  make  the  most  of  what  you  yet  may  spend, 
Before  we  too  into  the  Dust  descend; 

Dust  into  Dust,  and  under  Dust,  to  lie, 
Sans  Wine,  sans  Song,  sans  Singer,  and — sans  End  /" 

"Into  the  Dust  we  shall  descend  —  we  must. 
But  can  the  soul  not  break  the  crumbling  Crust 

In  which  he  is  encaged?    To  hope  or  to 
Despair  he  will  —  which  is  more  wise  or  just?" 


SONG-SURF 

"  The  worldly  hope  men  set  their  hearts  upon 
Turns  Ashes  —  or  it  prospers:  and  anon, 

Like  Snow  upon  the  Desert's  dusty  Face, 
Lighting  a  little  hour  or  two  —  is  gone." 


"Like  Snow  it  comes  —  to  cool  one  burning  Day; 
And  like  it  goes  —  for  all  our  plea  or  sway. 

But  flooding  tears  nor  Wine  can  ever  purge 
The  Vision  it  has  brought  to  us  away." 


"  But  to  this  world  we  come  and  Why  not  knowing, 
Nor  Whence,  like  water  willy-nilly  flowing; 

And  out  of  it,  as  Wind  along  the  waste, 
We  know  not  Whither,  willy-nilly  blowing" 


"True,  little  do  we  know  of  Why  or  Whence. 
But  is  forsooth  our  Darkness  evidence 

There  is  no  Light  ?  —  the  worm  may  see  no  star 
Tho'  heaven  with  myriad  multitudes  be  dense." 


6  SONG-SURF 

"But,  all  unasked,  we're  hither  hurried  Whence? 
And,  all  unasked,  we're  Whither  hurried  hence? 

O,  many  a  cup  of  this  forbidden  Wine 
Must  drown  the  memory  of  that  insolence.'11 


"Yet  can  not  —  ever!     For  it  is  forbid 
Still  by  that  quenchless  Soul  within  us  hid, 

Which  cries,  '  Feed  —  feed  me  not  on  Wine  alone, 
For  to  Immortal  Banquets  I  am  bid.'  " 


11  Well  oft  I  think  that  never  blows  so  red 
The  Rose  as  where  some  buried  Casar  bled: 

That  every  Hyacinth  the  Garden  wears 
Dropt  in  her  lap  from  some  once  lovely  Head" 

"Then  if,  from  the  dull  Clay  thro'  with  Life's  throes, 
More  beautiful  spring  Hyacinth  and  Rose, 

Will  the  great  Gardener  for  the  uprooted  soul 
Find  Use  no  sweeter  than  —  useless  Repose?" 


SONG-SURF 

"  We  cannot  know  —  so  Jill  the  cup  that  clears 
To-day  of  past  regret  and  future  fears: 

To-morrow!  —  Why,   To-morrow  we  may  be 
Ourselves  with  Yesterday's  sev'n  thousand  Years.'11 


"No  Cup  there  is  to  bring  oblivion 
More  during  than  Regret  and  Fear  —  no,  none; 
For  Wine  that's  Wine  to-day  may  change  and  be 
Marah  before  to-rr  >rrow's  Sands  have  run." 


"Myself  when  young  did  eagerly  frequent 
Doctor  and  Saint,  and  heard  great  argument 

About  it  and  about:  but  evermore 
Came  out  by  the  same  Door  where  in  I  went" 


"The  doors  of  Argument  may  lead  Nowhither, 
Reason  become  a  Prison  where  may  wither 

From  sunless  eyes  the  Infinite,  from  hearts 
All  Hope,  when  their  sojourn  too  long  is  thither." 


8  SONG-SURF 

11  Up  from  Earth's  Centre  thro'  the  Seventh  Gate 
I  rose,  and  on  the  throne  of  Saturn  satet 

And  many  a  Knot  unravelled  by  the  Road  — 
But  not  the  Master-knot  of  Human  fate." 


"The  Master-knot  knows  but  the  Master-hand 
That  scattered  Saturn  and  his  countless  Band 

Like  seeds  upon  the  unplanted  heaven's  Air: 
The  Truth  we  reap  from  them  is  Chaff  thrice  fanned." 


"  Yet  if  the  Soul  can  fling  the  Dust  aside 
And  naked  on  the  air  of  Heaven  ridet 

Wer't  not  a  shame  —  iver't  not  a  shame  for  him 
In  this  clay  carcase  crippled  to  abide?" 


"No,  for  a  day  bound  in  this  Dust  may  teach 
More  of  the  Saki's  Mind  than  we  can  reach 

Through  aeons  mounting  still  from  Sky  to  Sky 
May  open  through  all  Mystery  a  breach." 


SONG-SURF 

"  You  speak  as  if  Existence  dosing  your 
Account,  and  mine,  should  know  the  like  no  more; 

The  Eternal  Saki  from  that  Bowl  has  poured 
Millions  of  bubbles  like  us,  and  will  pour." 


"Bubbles  we  are,  pricked  by  the  point  of  Death. 
But,  in  each  bubble,  may  there  be  no  Breath 

That  lifts  it  and  at  last  to  Freedom  flies, 
And  o'er  all  heights  of  Heaven  wandereth?" 


11 A  moment's  halt  —  a  momentary  taste 
Of  Being  from  the  Well  amid  the  Waste  — 

And  Lo  —  the  phantom  Caravan  has  reached 
The  Nothing  it  set  out  from  —  Oh,  make  haste  1" 


"And  yet  it  should  be  —  it  should  be  that  we 
Who  drink  shall  drink  of  Immortality. 

The  Master  of  the  Well  has  much  to  spare: 
Will  He  say,  'Taste'  —  then  shall  we  no  more  be?" 


10  SONG-SURF 

"The  Moving  Finger  writes;  and  having  writ, 
Moves  on;  nor  all  your  Piety  nor  Wit 
Shall  lure  it  back  to  cancel  half  a  line, 
Nor  all  your  tears  wash  out  a  word  of  it." 

"And  were  it  other,  might  we  not  erase 
The  Letter  of  some  Sorrow  in  whose  place 

No  truer  sounding,  we  should  fail  to  spell 
The  Heart  which  yearns  behind  the  mock-world's 
Face?" 

11  Well,  this  I  know;  whether  the  one  True  Light 
Kindle  to  Love,  or  Wrath-consume  me,  quite, 

One  flash  of  it  within  the  Tavern  caught 
Better  than  in  the  Temple  lost  outright" 

"In  Temple  or  in  Tavern  't  may  be  lost. 
And  everywhere  that  Love  hath  any  Cost 

It  may  be  found;  the  Wrath  it  seems  is  but 
A  Cloud  whose  Dew  should  make  its  power  most." 


SONG-SURF  n 

"  But  see  His  Presence  thro1  Creation's  veins 
Running  Quicksilver-like  eludes  your  pains; 

Taking  all  shapes  from  Mdh  to  Mahi;  and 
They  change  and  perish  all  —  but  He  remains" 

"All  —  it  may  be.     Yet  lie  to  sleep,  and  lo, 
The  soul  seems  quenched  in  Darkness  —  is  it  so? 

Rather  believe  what  seemeth  not  than  seems 
Of  Death  —  until  we  know  —  until  we  know" 


"So  wastes  the  Hour  —  gone  in  the  vain  pursuit 
Of  This  and  That  we  strive  o'er  and  dispute. 

Better  be  jocund  with  the  fruitful  Grape 
Than  sadden  after  none,  or  bitter,  Fruit" 


"  Better  —  unless  we  hope  that  grief  is  thrown 
Across  our  Path  by  urgence  of  the  Unknown, 
Lest  we  may  think  we  have  no  more  to  live 
And  bide  content  with  dim-lit  Earth  alone." 


i2  SONG-SURF 

"  Then,  strange,  is't  not  ?  that  of  the  myriads  who 
Before  us  passed  the  door  of  Darkness  through 

Not  one  returns  to  tell  us  of  the  Road, 
Which  to  discover  we  must  travel  too?" 


"Such  is  the  Ban!  but  even  though  we  heard 
Love  in  Life's  All  we  still  should  crave  the  word 
Of  one  returned.     Yet  none  is  sure,  we  know, 
Though  they  lie  deep,  they  are  by  Death  deterred." 


11  Send  then  thy  Soul  through  the  Invisible 
Some  letter  of  the  After-life  to  spell: 

And  by  and  by  thy  Soul  returned  to  thee 
But  answers,  '/  myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell.1  " 


"From  the  Invisible,  he  does.     But  sent 

Thro'  Earth,  where  living  Goodness  tho'  'tis  blent 

With  Evil  dures,  may  he  not  read  the  Voice, 
'To  make  thee  but  for  Death  were  toil  ill  spent'  ?" 


SONG-SURF  13 

"Well,  when  the  Angel  of  the  darker  drink 
At  last  shall  find  us  by  the  river-brink 

And  offering  his  Cup  invite  our  souls 
Forth  to  our  lips  to  quaff,  we  shall  not  shrink" 

"No.     But  if  in  the  sable  Cup  we  knew 
Death  without  waking  were  the  wilful  brew, 

Nobler  it  were  to  curse  as  Coward  Him 
Who  roused  us  into  light  —  then  light  withdrew." 

"  Then  Thou  who  didst  with  pitfall  and  with  gin 
Beset  the  Road  I  was  to  wander  in, 

Thou  wilt  not  with  Predestined  Evil  round 
Enmesh,  and  then  impute  my  fall  to  sin" 


"He  will  not.     If  one  evil  we  endure 
To  ultimate  Debasing,  oh,  be  sure 

'Tis  not  of  Him  predestined,  and  the  sin 
Not  His  nor  ours  —  but  Fate's  He  could  not  cure." 


14  SONG-SURF 

"  Yet,  ah,  that  Spring  should  vanish  with  the  Rose! 
That  Youth's  sweet-scented  Manuscript  should  close! 

The  Nightingale  that  on  the  branches  sang, 
Ah,  whence,  and  whither  flown  again,  who  knows?11 


"So  does  it  seem  —  no  other  joys  like  these! 

Yet  Summer  comes,  and  Autumn's  honoured  ease; 

And  wintry  Age,  is't  ever  whisperless 
Of  that  Last  Spring,  whose  Verdure  may  not  cease?" 

"Still,  would  some  winged  Angel  ere  too  late 
Arrest  the  yet  unfolded  roll  of  Fate, 

And  make  the  stern  Recorder  otherwise 
Enregister,  or  quite  obliterate!" 


"To  otherwise  enregister  believe 

He  toils  eternally,  nor  asks  Reprieve. 

And  could  Creation  perfect  from  his  hands 
Have  come  at  Dawn,  none  overmuch  should  grieve." 


SONG-SURF  15 

So  till  the  wan  and  early  scent  of  day 
We  strove,  and  silent  turned  at  last  away, 

Thinking  how  men  in  ages  yet  unborn 
Would  ask  and  answer  —  trust  and  doubt  and  pray. 


JAEL 

JEHOVAH!  Jehovah!    art    Thou 

not  stronger  than  gods  of  the  heathen? 
I  slew  him,  that  Sisera,  prince 

of  the  host  Thou  dost  hate. 
But  fear  of  his  blood  is  upon  me, 

about  me  is  breathen 
His  spirit  —  by  night  and  by  day 

come   voices   that   wait. 

Athirst  and  affrightened  he  fled  from 
the  star-wrought  waters  of  Kishon. 

His  face  was  as  wool  when  he  swooned 
at  the  door  of  my  tent. 

The  Lord  hath  given  him  into 
the  hand  of  perdition, 
16 


SONG-SURF  1 7 

I  smiled  —  but  he  saw  not  the  face 
of  my  cunning  intent. 

He  thirsted  for  water:  I  fed  him 

the  curdless  milk  of  the  cattle. 
He  lay  in  the  tent  under  purple 

and  crimson  of  Tyre. 
He  slept  and  he  dreamt  of  the  surge 

and  storming  of  battle. 
Ah  ha!  but  he  woke  not  to  waken 

Jehovah's  ire. 

He  slept  as  he  were  a  chosen 

of   Israel's    God   Almighty. 
A  dog  out  of  Canaan!  —  thought  he 

I   was   woman   alone? 
I  slipt  like  an  asp  to  his  ear 

and  laughed  for  the  sight  he 
Would  give  when  the  carrion  kites 

should  tear  to  his  bone. 


i8  SONG-SURF 

I  smote  thro'  his  temple  the  nail, 

to  the  dust,  a  worm,  did  I  bind  him. 
My  heart  was  a-leap  with  rage 

and  a-quiver  with  scorn. 
And  I  danced  with  a  holy  delight 

before   and  behind  him  — 
I  that  am  called  blessed  o'er  all 

unto  Judah  born. 

"Aye,  come,  I  will  show  thee,  O  Barak, 

a  woman  is  more  than  a  warrior," 
I  cried  as  I  lifted  the  door 

wherein  Sisera  lay. 
"To  me  did  he  fly  and  I 

shall  be  called  his  destroyer  — 
I,  Jael,  who  am  subtle  to  find 

for  the  Lord  a  way!" 

Above  all  the  daughters  of  men 
be  blest  —  of  Gilead  or  Asshur," 


SONG-SURF  I9 

Sang  Deborah,  prophetess,   then,  from 

her  waving  palm. 
"  Behold  her,  ye  people,  behold  her 

the  heathen's  abasher; 
Behold  her  the  Lord  hath  uplifted  — 

behold  and  be  calm! 


"The  mother  of  him  at  the  window 

looks  out  thro'  the  lattice  to  listen  - 
Why  roll  not  the  wheels  of  his  chariot  ? 

why  does  he  stay? 
Shall  he  not  return  with  the  booty 

of  battle,  and  glisten 
In  songs  of  his  triumph  —  ye  women, 

why  do  ye  not  say?" 

And  I  was  as  she  who  danced  when 
the  Seas  were  rended  asunder 

And  stood,  until  Egypt  pressed  in 
to  be  drowned  unto  death. 


20  SONG-SURF 

My  breasts  were  as  fire  with  the  glory, 

the  rocks  that  were  under 
My  feet  grew  quick  with  the  gloating 

that  beat  in  my  breath. 

At  night  I  stole  out  where  they  cast  him, 

a  sop  to  the  jackal  and  raven. 
But  his  bones  stood  up  in  the  moon 

and  I  shook  with  affright. 
The  strength  shrank  out  of  my  limbs 

and  I  fell,  a  craven, 
Before  him  —  the  nail  in  his  temple 

gleamed  bloodily  bright. 

Jehovah!   Jehovah!  art  Thou 
not  stronger  than  gods  of  the  heathen  ? 

I  slew  him,  that  Sisera,  prince 
of  the  host  Thou  dost  hate. 

But  fear  of  his  blood  is  upon  me, 
about  me  is  breathen 


SONG-SURF  21 

His  spirit  —  by  day  and  by  night 
come  voices  that  wait. 

I  fly  to  the  desert,  I  fly  to  the 

mountain  —  but  they  will  not  hide  me. 
His  gods  haunt  the  winds  and  the  caves 

with  vengeance  that  cries 
For  judgment  upon  me;  the  stars  in 

their  courses  deride  me  — 
The  stars  Thou  hast  hung  with  a  breath 

in  the  wandering  skies. 

Jehovah!  Jehovah!  I  slew  him, 

the  scourge  and  sting  of  Thy  Nation. 
Take  from  me  his  spirit,  take  from  me 

the  voice  of  his  blood. 
With  madness  I  rave  —  by  day 

and  by  night,  defamation! 
Jehovah,  release  me!  Jehovah! 

if  still  Thou  art  God! 


TO  THE  SEA 

ART  thou  enraged,  O  sea,  with  the  blue  peace 
Of  heaven,  so  to  uplift  thine  armed  waves, 
Thy  billowing  rebellion  'gainst  its  ease, 
And  with  Tartarean  mutter  from  cold  caves, 
From  shuddering  profundities  where  shapes 
Of  awe  glide  thro'  entangled  leagues  of  ooze, 
To  hoot  thy  watery  omens  evermore, 
And  evermore  thy  moanings  interfuse 
With  seething  necromancy  and  mad  lore? 

Or,  dost  thou  labour  with  the  drifting  bones 
Of  countless  dead,  thou  mighty  Alchemist, 
Within  whose  stormy  crucible  the  stones 
Of  sunk  primordial  shores,  granite  and  schist, 
Are  crumbled  by  thine  all-abrasive  beat? 
aa 


SONG-SURF  33 

With  immemorial  chanting  to  the  moon, 
And  cosmic  incantation,  dost  thou  crave 
Rest  to  be  found  not  till  thy  wild  be  strewn 
Frigid  and  desert  over  earth's  last  grave? 

Thou  seemest  with  immensity  mad,  blind  — 
With  raving  deaf,  with  wandering  forlorn; 
Parent  of  Demogorgon  whose  dire  mind 
Is  night  and  earthquake,  shapeless  shame  and 

scorn 

Of  the  o'ermounting  birth  of  Harmony. 
Bound  in  thy  briny  bed  and  gnawing  earth 
With  foamy  writhing  and  fierce-panted  tides, 
Thou  art  as  Fate  in  torment  of  a  dearth 
Of  black  disaster  and  destruction's  strides. 

And  how  thou  dost  drive  silence  from  the 

world, 

Incarnate  Motion  of  all  mystery! 
Whose  waves  are  fury-wings,  whose  winds  are 

hurled 


24  SONG-SURF 

Whither  thy  Ghost  tempestuous  can  see 

A  desolate  apocalypse  of  death. 

Oh,  how  thou  dost  drive  silence  from  the  world, 

With  emerald  overflowing,  waste  on  waste 

Of  flashing  susurration,  dashed  and  swirled 

O'er  isles  and  continents  that  shrink  abased! 

Nay,  frustrate  Hope  art  thou,  of  the  Unknown, 
Gathered  from  primal  mist  and  firmament; 
A  surging  shape  of  Life's  unfathomed  moan, 
Whelming  humanity  with  fears  unmeant. 
Yet  do  I  love  thee,  O,  above  all  fear, 
And  loving  thee  unconquerably  trust 
The  runes  that  from  thy  ageless  surfing  start 
Would  read,  were  they  revealed,  gust  upon 

gust, 
That  Immortality  is  might  of  heart! 


THE     DAY-MOON 

So  wan,  so  unavailing, 
Across  the  vacant  day-blue  dimly  trailing! 

Last  night,  sphered  in  thy  shining, 
A  Circe  —  mystic  destinies  divining; 

To-day  but  as  a  feather 
Tom  from  a  seraph's  wing  in  sinful  weather, 

Down-drifting  from  the  portals 
Of  Paradise,  unto  the  land  of  mortals. 

Yet  do  I  feel  thee  awing 
My  heart  with  mystery,  as  thy  updrawing 

Moves  thro'  the  tides  of  Ocean 
And  leaves  lorn  beaches  barren  of  its  motion; 

25 


26  SONG-SURF 

Or  strands  upon  near  shallows 
The   wreck   whose   weirded  form   at   night 
unhallows 

The  fisher  maiden's  prayers  — 
"For     him!  —  that    storms     may    take    not 
unawares!" 

So  wan,  so  unavailing, 
Across  the  vacant  day-blue  dimly  trailing! 

But  Night  shall  come  atoning 
Thy  phantom  life  thro*  day,  and  high  enthroning 

Thee  in  her  chambers  arrased 
With  star-hieroglyphs,  leave  thee  unharassed 

To  glide  with  silvery  passion, 
Till  in  earth's  shadow  swept  thy  glowings  ashen. 


A  SEA-GHOST 

OH,  fisher-fleet,  go  in  from  the  sea 

And   furl   your   wings. 
The  bay  is  gray  with  the  twilit  spray 

And  the  loud  surf  springs. 


The  chill  buoy-bell  is  rung  by  the  hands 

Of  all  the  drowned, 
Who  know  the  woe  of  the  wind  and  tow 

Of  the  tides  around. 


Go  in,  go  in!     Oh,  haste  from  the  sea, 

And  let  them  rest  — 
A  son  Jmd  one  who  was  wed  and  one 

Who  went  down  unblest. 
27 


28  SONG-SURF 

Aye,  even  as  I,  whose  hands  at  the  bell 

Now  labour  most. 
The  tomb  has  gloom,  but  Oh,  the  doom 

Of  the  drear  sea-ghost! 

He  evermore  must  wander  the  ooze 

Beneath  the  wave, 
Forlorn  —  to  warn  of  the  tempest  born, 

And  to  save  —  to  save ! 

Then  go,  go  in!  and  leave  us  the  sea, 

For  only  so 
Can  peace  release  us  and  give  us  ease 

Of  our  salty  woe. 


ON  THE  MOOR 

i 
I  MET  a  child  upon  the  moor 

A-wading  down  the  heather; 
She  put  her  hand  into  my  own, 

We  crossed  the  fields  together. 

I  led  her  to  her  father's  door  — 

A  cottage  mid  the  clover. 
I  left  her  —  and  the  world  grew  poor 

To  me,  a  childless  rover. 

2 
I  met  a  maid  upon  the  moor, 

The  morrow  was  her  wedding. 
Love  lit  her  eyes  with  lovelier  hues 
Than  the  eve-star  was  shedding. 
29 


30  SONG-SURF 

She  looked  a  sweet  good-bye  to  me, 
And  o'er  the  stile  went  singing. 

Down  all  the  lonely  night  I  heard 
But  bridal  bells  a-ringing. 

3 

I  met  a  mother  on  the  moor, 
By  a  new  grave  a-praying. 

The  happy  swallows  in  the  blue 
Upon  the  winds  were  playing. 

"Would  I  were  in  his  grave,"  I  said, 
"And  he  beside  her  standing!" 

There  was  no  heart  to  break  if  death 
For  me  had  made  demanding. 


THE  CRY  OF  EVE 

DOWN  the   palm-way  from  Eden  in  the  mid 
night 

Lay  dreaming  Eve  by  her  outdriven  mate, 
Pillowed  on  lilies  that  still  told  the  sweet 
Of  birth  within  the  Garden's  ecstasy. 
Pitiful  round  her  face  that  could  not  lose 
Its  memory  of  God's  perfecting  was  strewn 
Her  troubled  hair,  and  sigh  grieved  after  sigh 
Along  her  loveliness  in  the  white  moon. 
Then  sudden  her  dream,  too  cruelly  impent 
With  pain,  broke  and  a  cry  fled  shuddering 
Into  the  wounded  stillness  from  her  lips — 
As,  cold,  she  fearfully  felt  for  his  hand, 
And  tears,  that  had  before  ne'er  visited 
Her  lids  with  anguish,  drew  from  her  the  moan: 


32  SONG-SURF 

"Oh,  Adam!    What  have  I  dreamed? 

Now  do  I  understand  His  words,  so  dim 

To  creatures  that  had  quivered  but  with  bliss! 

Since  at  the  dusk  thy  kiss  to  me,  and  I 

Wept  at  caresses  that  were  once  all  joy, 

I  have  slept,  seeing  through  Futurity 

The   uncreated    ages   visibly! 

Foresuffering  phantoms  crowded  in  the  womb 

Of  Time,  and  all  with  lamentable  mien 

Accusing  without  mercy,  thee  and  me! 

And  without  pity!  for  tho'  some  were  far 

From  birth,  and  without  name,  others  were  near  -*• 

Sodom  and  dark  Gomorrah — from  whose  flames 

Fleeing  one  turned  .  .  .  how  like  her  look  to  mine 

When  the  tree's  horror  trembled  on  my  taste! 

And  Babylon  upbuilded  on  our  sin; 

And  Nineveh,  a  city  sinking  slow 

Under  a  shroud  of  sandy  centuries 

That  hid  me  not  from  the  buried  cursing  eyes 

Of  women  who  e'er-bitterly  gave  birth! 


SONG-SURF  33 

Ah,  to  be  mother  of  all  misery! 
To  be  first-called  out  of  the  earth  and  fail 
For  a  whole  world!     To  shame  maternity 
For  women  evermore  —  women  whose  tears 
Flooding  the  night,  no  hope  can  wipe  away! 
To  see  the  wings  of  Death,  as,  Adam,  thou 
Hast  not,  endlessly  beating,  and  to  hear 
The  swooning  ages  suffer  up  to  God! 
And  Oh,  that  birth-cry  of  a  guiltless  child 
In  it  are  sounding  of  our  sin  and  woe, 
With  prophesy  of  ill  beyond  all  years! 
Yearning  for  beauty  never  to  be  seen  — 
Beatitude  redeemless  evermore! 


"And  I  whose  dream  mourned  with  all  motherhood 
Must  hear  it  soon!     Already  do  soft  skill, 
Assuasive  lulls,  enticings  and  quick  tones 
Of  tenderness  —  that  will  like  light  awake 
The  folded  memory  children  shall  bring 
Out  of  the  dark  —  move  in  me  longingly. 


34  SONG-SURF 

Yet  thou,  Adam,  dear  fallen  thought  of  God, 
Thou,  when  thou  too  shalt  hear  humanity 
Cry  in  thy  child,  wilt  groaning  wish  the  world 
Back  in  unsummoned  Void!  and,  woe!  wilt  fill 
God's  ear  with  troubled  wonder  and  unrest!" 


Softly  he  soothed  her  straying  hair,  and  kissed 
The  fever  from  her  lips.     Over  the  palms 
The  sad  moon  poured  her  peace  into  their  eyes, 
Till  Sleep,  the  angel  of  forgetfulness, 
Folded  again  dark  wings  above  their  rest. 


MARY  AT  NAZARETH 

I  KNOW,  Lord,  Thou  hast  sent  Him 
Thou  art  so  good  to  me!  — 
But  Thou  hast  only  lent  Him, 
His  heart's  for  Thee! 


I   dared  —  Thy  poor  hand-maiden 
Not  ask  a  prophet-child: 
Only  a  boy-babe  laden 
For  earth  —  and  mild. 


But  this  one  Thou  hast  given 
Seems  not  for  earth  —  or  me! 
His  lips  flame  truth  from  heaven, 
And  vanity 

35 


36  SONG-SURF 

Seem  all  my  thoughts  and  prayers 
When  He  but  speaks  Thy  Law; 
Out  of  my  heart  the  tares 
Are  torn  by  awe! 

I  cannot  look  upon  Him, 
So  strangely  burn  His  eyes  — 
Hath  not  some  grieving  drawn  Him 
From  Paradise? 


For  Thee,  for  Thee  I'd  live,  Lord! 
Yet  oft  I  almost  fall 
Before  Him  —  Oh,  forgive,  Lord, 
My  sinful  thrall! 


But  e'en  when  He  was  nursing, 
A  baby  at  my  breast, 
It  seemed  He  was  dispersing 
The  world's  unrest. 


SONG-SURF  37 

Thou  bad'st  me  call  Him  " Jesus," 
And  from  our  heavy  sin 
I  know  He  shall  release  us, 
From  Sheol  win. 

But,  Lord,  forgive!  the  yearning 
That  He  may  sometimes  be 
Like  other  children,  learning 
Beside  my  knee, 


Or  playing,  prattling,  seeking 
For  help  —  comes  to  my  heart. 
Ah  sinful,  Lord,  I'm  speaking 
How  good  Thou  art! 


ADELIL 

PROUD  Adelil!    Proud  Adelil! 
Why  does  she  lie  so  cold? 

(I  made  her  shrink,  I  made  her  reel, 
I  made  her  white  lids  fold.) 


We  sat  at  banquet,  many  maids, 
She  like  a  Valkyr  free. 

(I  hated  the  glitter  of  her  braids, 
I  hated  her  blue  eye's  glee!) 

In  emerald  cups  was  poured  the  mead; 
Icily  blew  the  night. 

(But  tears  unshed  and  woes  that  bleed 
Brew  bitterness  and  spite.) 
38 


SONG-SURF  39 

"A  goblet  to  my  love!"  she  cried, 
"Prince  where  the  sea-winds  fly!" 
(Her  love!  —  it  was  for  that  he  died, 
And  for  it  she  should  die.) 

She  lifted  the  cup  and  drank  —  she  saw 
A  heart  within  its  lees. 

(I  laughed  like  the  dead  who  feel  the  thaw 
Of  summer  in  the  breeze.) 


They  looked  upon  her  stricken  still, 
And  sudden  they  grew  appalled. 
("It  is  thy  lover's  heart!"  I  shrill 
As  the  sea-crow  to  her  called.) 

Palely  she  took  it  —  did  it  give 
Ease  there  against  her  breast? 

(Dead  —  dead  she  swooned,  but  I  cannot 

live, 
And  dead  I  shall  not  rest.) 


INTIMATION 

ALL  night  I  smiled  as  I  slept, 
For  I  heard  the  March-wind  feel 

Blindly  about  in  the  trees  without 
For  buds  to  heal. 


All  night  in  dreams,  for  I  smelt, 
In  the  rain-wet  woods  and  fields, 

The  coming  flowers  and  the  glad  green  hours 
That  summer  yields. 


All  night  —  and  when  at  dawn 
I  woke  with  the  blue-bird's  cheep, 

Winter  with  all  its  chill  and  pall 
Seemed  but  a  sleep. 
40 


IN  JULY 

THIS  path  will  tell  me  where  dark  daisies  dance 
To  the  white  sycamores  that  dell  them  in; 
Where  crow  and  flicker  cry  melodious  din, 
And  blackberries  in  ebon  ripeness  glance 
Luscious  enticings  under  briery  green. 
It  v;ill  slip  under  coppice  limbs  that  lean 
Brushingly  as  the  slow-belled  heifer  pants 

Toward  weedy  water-plants 
That  shade  the  pool-sunk  creek's  reluctant  trance. 

I  shall  find  bell-flower  spires  beside  the  gap 
And  lady  phlox  within  the  hollow's  cool; 
Cedar  with  sudden  memories  of  Yule 
Above  the  tangle  tipped  with  blue  skullcap. 
The  high  hot  mullein  fond  of  the  full  sun 
4i 


42  SONG-SURF 

Will  watch  and  tell  the  low  mint  when  I've  won 
The  hither  wheat  where  idle  breezes  nap, 

And  fluffy  quails  entrap 
Me  from  their  brood  that  crouch  to  escape  mishap. 

Then  I  shall  reach  the  mossy  water-way 
That  gullies  the  dense  hill  up  to  its  peak, 
There  dally  listening  to  the  eerie  eke 
Of  drops  into  cool  chalices  of  clay. 
Then  on,  for  elders  odorously  will  steal 
My  senses  till  I  climb  up  where  they  heal 
The  livid  heat  of  its  malingering  ray, 

And  wooingly  betray 
To  memory  many  a  long-forgotten  day. 

There  I  shall  rest  within  the  woody  peace 
Of  afternoon.     The  bending  azure  frothed 
With  silveryness,  the  sunny  pastures  swathed, 
Fragrant  with  morn-mown  clover  and  seed-fleece; 
The  hills  where  hung  mists  muse,  and  Silence  calls 


SONG-SURF  43 

To  Solitude  thro'  aged  forest  halls, 

Will  waft  into  me  their  mysterious  ease, 

And  in  the  wind's  soft  cease 
I  shall  hear  hintings  of  eternities. 


FROM  ABOVE 

WHAT  do  I  care  if  the  trees  are  bare 
And  the  hills  are  dark 
And  the  skies  are  gray. 

What  do  I  care  for  chill  in  the  air 

For  crows  that  cark 

At  the  rough  wind's  way. 

What  do  I  care  for  the  dead  leaves  there 
Or  the  sullen  road 
By  the  sullen  wood. 

There's  heart  in  my  heart 
To  bear  my  load! 
So  enough,  the  day  is  good! 
44 


BY  THE  INDUS 

THOU  art  late,  O  Moon, 
Late, 

I  have  waited  thee  long. 
The  nightingale's  flown  to  her  nest, 

Sated  with  song. 

The  champak  hath  no  odour  more 
To  pour  on  the  wind  as  he  passeth  o'er 

But  my  heart  it  will  not  rect. 


Thou  art  late,  O  Love, 
Late, 

For  the  moon  is  a-wane. 
The  kusa-grass  sighs  with  my  sighs, 

Burns   with    my   pain. 

45 


46  SONG-SURF 

The  lotus  leans  her  head  on  the  stream  — 

Shall  I  not  lean  to  thy  breast  and  dream, 

Dream  ere   the  night-cool  dies? 


Thou  art  late,  O  Death, 
Late, 

For  he  did  not  come! 
A  pariah  is  my  heart, 

Cast  from  him  —  dumb! 
I  cannot  cry  in  the  jungle's  deep  — 
Is  it  not  time  for  the  Tomb  —  and  Sleep  ? 

O  Death,  strike  with  thy  dart! 


EVOCATION 
(NIKKO,  JAPAN,  1905) 

DIM  thro'  the  mist  and  cryptomeria 

Booms    the    temple    bell, 
Down  from  the  tomb  of  leyasii 

Yearning,   as   a  knell. 

Down  from  the  tomb  where  many  an  aeon 

Silently  has  knelt; 
Many  a  pilgrimage  of  millions  — 

Still  about  it  felt. 

Still,  for  I  see  them  gather  ghostly 

Now,  as  the  numb  sound 
Floats,  an  unearthly  necromancy, 

From  the  past's  dead  ground. 

47 


48  SONG-SURF 

See  the  invisible  vast  millions, 

Hear  their  soundless  feet 
Climbing  the  shrine-ways  to  the  gilded 

Carven  temple's  seat. 

And,  one  among  them  —  pale  among  them  — 

Passes  waning  by. 
What  is  it  tells  me  mystically 

That  strange  one  was  I  ?     .     .    » 

Weird  thro'  the  mist  and  cryptomeria 

Dies  the  bell  — 'tis  dumb. 
After  how  many  lives  returning 

Shall  I  hither  come? 

Hither  again!  and  climb  the  votive 

Ever  mossy  ways  ? 
Who  shall  the  gods  be  then,  the  millions 

Meek,  entreat  or  praise? 


THE  CHILD  GOD  GAVE 

"  GIVE  me  a  little  child 

To  draw  this  dreary  want  out  of  my  breast,' 

I  cried  to  God. 
"Give,  for  my  days  beat  wild 
With  loneliness  that  will  not  rest 
But  under  the  still  sod!" 

It  came  —  with  groping  lips 

And  little  fingers  stealing  aimlessly 

About  my  heart. 
I  was  like  one  who  slips 
A-sudden  into  Ecstasy 
And  thinks  ne'er  to  depart. 

"Soon  he  will  smile,"  I  said, 

"And  babble  baby  love  into  my  ears  — 

49 


50  SONG-SURF 

How  it  will  thrill!" 
I  waited  —  Oh,  the  dread, 
The  clutching  agony,  the  fears!  — 
He  was  so  strange  and  still. 

Did  I  curse  God  and  rave 

When  they  came  shrinkingly  to  tell  me  'twas 

A  witless  child? 

No     ...     I     ...     I  only  gave 
One  cry    ...    just  one.    .     .    I  think    .    .    . 

because    .     .     . 
You  know  he  never  smiled 


THE  WINDS 

THE  East  Wind  is  a  Bedouin, 

And  Nimbus  is  his  steed; 
Out  of  the  dusk  with  the  lightning's  thin 
Blue  scimitar  he  flies  afar, 

Whither  his  rovings  lead. 
The  Dead  Sea  waves 
And  Egypt  caves 

Of  mummied  silence  laugh 
When  he  mounts  to  quench  the  Siroc's  stench 

And  to  wrench 

From  his  clutch  the  tyrant's  staff. 

The  West  Wind  is  an  Indian  brave 

Who  scours  the  Autumn's  crest. 
Dashing  the  forest  down  as  a  slave, 

Si 


52  SONG-SURF 

He  tears  the  leaves  from  its  limbs  and  weaves 
A  maelstrom  for  his  breast. 
Out  of  the  night 
Crying  to  fright 

The  earth  he  swoops  to  spoil  — 
There  is  furious  scathe  in  the  whirl  of  his  wrath, 
In  his  path 
There  is  misery  and  moil. 


The  North  Wind  is  a  Viking  —  cold 

And  cruel,   armed  with  death! 
Born  in  the  doomful  deep  of  the  old 
Ice  Sea  that  froze  ere  Ymir  rose 

From  Niflheim's  ebon  breath. 
And  with  him  sail 
Snow,  Frost,  and  Hail, 

Thanes  mighty  as  their  lord, 
To  plunder  the  shores  of  Summer's  stores  — 

And  his  roar  's 

Like  the  sound  of  Chaos'  horde. 


SONG-SURF  53 

The  South  Wind  is  a  Troubadour; 

The  Spring  's  his  serenade. 
Over  the  mountain,  over  the  moor, 
He  blows  to  bloom  from  the  winter's  tomb 

Blossom  and  leaf  and  blade. 
He  ripples  the  throat 
Of  the  lark  with  a  note 

Of  lilting  love  and  bliss, 
And  the  sun  and  the  moon,  the  night  and  the  noon, 

Are  a-swoon  — 

When  he  woos  them  with  his  kiss. 


TRANSCENDED 

I  WHO  was  learned  in  death's  lore 

Oft  held  her  to  my  heart 
And  spoke  of  days  when  we  should  love  no  more  — 

In  the  long  dust,  apart. 

"  Immortal  ?  "    No  —  it  could  not  be, 

Spirit  with  flesh  must  die. 
Tho'  heart  should  pray  and  hope  make  endless  plea, 

Reason  would  still  outcry. 


She  died.    They  wrapped  her  in  the  dust  — 

I  heard  the  dull  clod's  dole, 
And  then  I  knew  she  lived  —  that  death's  dark  lust 

Could  never  touch  her  soull 
54 


LOVE'S  WAY  TO  CHILDHOOD 

WE  ARE  not  lovers,  you  and  I, 

Upon  this  sunny  lane, 
But  children  who  have  never  known 

Love's  joy  or  pain. 


The  trees  we  pass,  the  summer  brook, 
The  bird  that  o'er  us  darts  — 

We  do  not  know  'tis  they  that  thrill 
Our  childish  hearts. 


The  earth-things  have  no  name  for  us, 
The  ploughing  means  no  more 

Than  that  they  like  to  walk  the  fields 
Who  plough  them  o'er. 
55 


56  SONG-SURF 

The  road,  the  wood,  the  heaven,  the  hills 
Are  not  a  World  to-day  — 

But  just  a  place  God's  made  for  us 
In  which  to  play. 


AUTUMN 

I  KNOW  her  not  by  fallen  leaves 
Or  resting  heaps  of  hay; 

Or  by  the  sheathing  mists  of  mauve 
That  soothe  the  fiery  day. 

I  know  her  not  by  plumping  nuts, 
By  redded  hips  and  haws, 

Or  by  the  silence  hanging  sad 
Under  the  wind's  sere  pause. 

But  by  her  sighs  I  know  her  well  — 
They  are  like  Sorrow's  breath; 

And  by  this  longing,  strangely  still, 
For  something  after  death. 

57 


SHINTO 
(MIYAJIMA,  JAPAN,  1905) 

LOWLY  temple  and  torii, 

Shrine  where  the  spirits  of  wind  and  wave 

Find  the  worship  and  glory  we 

Give  to  the  one  God  great  and  grave  — 

Lowly  temple  and  torii, 
Shrine  of  the  dead,  I  hang  my  prayer 
Here  on  your  gates  —  the  story  see 
And  answer  out  of  the  earth  and  air. 

For  I  am  Nature's  child,  and  you 
Were  by  the  children  of  Nature  built. 
Ages  have  on  you  smiled  —  and  dew 
On  you  for  ages  has  been  spilt  — 
58 


SONG-SURF  59 

Till  you  are  beautiful  as  Time 
Mossy  and  mellowing  ever  makes: 
Wrapped  as  you  are  in  lull  —  or  rhyme 
Of  sounding  drum  that  sudden  breaks. 

This  is  my  prayer  then,  this:  that  I 
Too  may  reverence  all  of  life, 
Lose  no  power  and  miss  no  high 
Awe,  of  a  world  with  wonder  rife  ! 

That  I  may  build  in  spirit  fair 
Temples  and  torii  on  each  place 
That  I  have  loved  —  Oh,  hear  it,  Air, 
Ocean  and  Earth,  and  grant  your  grace  1 


MAYA 

(HIROSHIMA,  JAPAN,  1905) 

PALE  sampans  up  the  river  glide, 
With  set  sails  vanishing  and  slow; 

In  the  blue  west  the  mountains  hide, 
As  visions  that  too  soon  will  go. 

Across  the  rice-lands,  flooded  deep, 
The  peasant  peacefully  wades  on  — 

As,  in  unfurrowed  vales  of  sleep, 
A  phantom  out  of  voidness  drawn. 

Over  the  temple  cawing  flies 
The  crow  with  carrion  in  his  beak. 

Buddha  within  lifts  not  his  eyes 
In  pity  or  reproval  meek; 
60 


SONG-SURF  61 

Nor,  in  the  bamboos,  where  they  bow 
A  respite  from  the  blinding  sun, 

The  old  priest  —  dreaming  painless  how 
Nirvana's  calm  will  come  when  won. 

"All  is  illusion,  Maya,  all 

The  world  of  will,"  the  spent  East  seems 
Whispering  in  me;  "and  the  call 

Of  Life  is  but  a  call  of  dreams." 


A  JAPANESE  MOTHER 
(!N  TIME  OF  WAR) 

THE  young  stork  sleeps  in  the  pine-tree  tops, 

Down  on  the  brink  of  the  river. 
My  baby  sleeps  by  the  bamboo  copse  — 
The  bamboo  copse  where  the  rice  field  stops: 
The  bamboos  sigh  and  shiver. 

The  white  fox  creeps  from  his  hole  in  the  hill; 

I  must  pray  to  Inari. 
I  hear  her  calling  me  low  and  chill  — 
Low  and  chill  when  the  wind  is  still 

At  night  and  the  skies  hang  starry. 

And  ever  she  says,  "He's  dead!  he's  dead! 
Your  lord  who  went  to  battle. 


SONG-SURF  63 

How  shall  your  baby  now  be  fed, 
Ukibo  fed,  with  rice  and  bread  — 
What  if  I  hush  his  prattle?" 

The  red  moon  rises  as  I  slip  back, 

And  the  bamboo  stems  are  swaying. 
Inari  was  deaf  —  and  yet  the  lack, 
The  fear  and  lack,  are  gone,  and  the  rack, 
I  know  not  why  —  with  praying. 

For  though  Inari  cared  not  at  all, 

Some  other  god  was  kinder. 
I  wonder  why  he  has  heard  my  call, 
My  gif tless  call  —  and  what  shall  befall  ?.     .    . 

Hope  has  but  left  me  blinder! 


THE  DEAD  GODS 

I  THOUGHT  I  plunged  into  that  dire  Abyss 
Which  is  Oblivion,  the  house  of  Death. 
I  thought  there  blew  upon  my  soul  the  breath 
Of  time  that  was  but  never  more  can  be. 


Ten  thousand  years  within  its  void  I  thought 
I  lay,  blind,  deaf,  and  motionless,  until  — 
Though  with  no  eye  nor  ear  —  I  felt  the  thrill 
Of  seeing,  heard  its  phantoms  move  and  sigh. 


First  one  beside  me  spoke,  in  tones  that  told 
He  once  had  been  a  god  —  "  Persephone, 
Tear  from  thy  brow  its  withered  crown,  for  we 
Are  king  and  queen  of  Tartarus  no  more; 
64 


SONG-SURF  65 

"And  that  wan,  shrivelled  sceptre  in  thy  hand, 
Why  dost  thou  clasp  it  still  ?     Cast  it  away, 
For  now  it  hath  no  virtue  that  can  sway 
Dull  shades  or  drive  the  Furies  to  their  spoil. 

"Cast  it  away,  and  give  thy  palm  to  mine: 
Perchance  some  unobliterated  spark 
Of  memory  shall  warm  this  dismal  Dark. 
Perchance  —  Vain!   vain!  love  could  not  light  such 
gloom." 

He  sank.     .     .     .     Then  in  great  ruin  by  him  moved 
Another  as  in  travail  of  some  thought 
Near  unto  birth;  and  soon  from  lips  distraught 
By  aged  silence,  fell,  with  hollow  woe: 

"Ah,  Pluto,  dost  thou,  one  time  lord  of  Styx 
And  Acheron  make  moan  of  night  and  cold? 
Were  we  upon  Olympus  as  of  old 
Laughter  of  thee  would  rock  its  festal  height. 


66  SONG-SURF 

"  But  think,  think  thee  of  me,  to  whom  or  gloom 
Or  cold  were  more  unknown  than  impotence! 
See  the  unhurled  thunderbolt  brought  hence 
To  mock  me  when  I  dream  I  still  am  Jove!" 


Too  much  it  was:  I  withered  in  the  breath; 

And  lay  again  ten  thousand  lifeless  years; 

And  then  my  soul  shook,  woke  —  and  saw  three  biers 

Chiselled  of  solid  night  majestically. 


The  forms  outlaid  upon  them  were  enwound 
As  with  the  silence  of  eternity. 
Numbing  repose  dwelt  o'er  them  like  a  sea, 
That  long  hath  lost  tide,  wave  and  roar,  in  death. 


"Ptah,  Ammon,  and  Osiris  are  their  names," 
A  spirit  hieroglyphed  unto  my  soul. 
"Ptah,  Ammon,  and  Osiris  —  they  who  stole 
The  heart  of  Egypt  from  the  God  of  gods: 


SONG-SURF  67 

"Aye,  they!  and  these!"  pointing  to  many  wraiths 
That  stood  around  —  Baal,  Ormuzd,  Indra,  all 
Whom  frightened  ignorance  and  sin's  appall 
Had  given  birth,  close-huddled  in  despair. 


Their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  cloven  slope 
Down  whose  descent  still  other  forms  a-fresh 
From  earth  were  drawn,  by  the  unceasing  mesh 
Of  Time  to  their  irrevocable  end. 


"They  are  the  gods,"  one  said —  "the  gods  whom 

men 

Still  taunt  with  wails  for  help." —  Then  a  deep  light 
Upbore  me  from  the  Gulf,  and  thro'  its  might 
I  heard  the  worlds  cry,  "God  alone  is  God!" 


CALL  TO  YOUR  MATE,  BOB- WHITE 

O  CALL  to  your  mate,  bob-white,  bob-white, 

And  I  will  call  to  mine. 
Call  to  her  by  the  meadow-gate, 

And  I  will  call  by  the  pine. 


Tell  her  the  sun  is  hid,  bob-white, 
The  windy  wheat  sways  west. 

Whistle  again,  call  clear  and  run 
To  lure  her  out  of  her  nest. 


For  when  to  the  copse  she  comes,  shy  bird, 

With  Mary  down  the  lane 
I'll  walk,  in  the  dusk  of  the  locust  tops, 

And  be  her  lover  again. 
68 


SONG-SURF  69 

Ay,  we  will  forget  our  hearts  are  old, 

And  that  our  hair  is  gray. 
We'll  kiss  as  we  kissed  at  pale  sunset 

That  summer's  halcyon  day. 

That  day,  can  it  fade  ?     ...     ah,  bob,  bob-white, 

Still  calling  —  calling  still? 
We're  coming  —  a-coming,  bent  and  weighed, 

But  glad  with  the  old  love's  thrill! 


THE  DYING  POET 

SWING  in  thy  splendour,  O  silent  sun, 
Drawing  my  heart  with  thee  over  the  west! 
Done  is  its  day  as  thy  day  is  done, 
Fallen  its  quest! 


Swoon  into  purple  and  rose,  then  die: 
Tho'  to  arise  again  out  of  the  dawn: 
Die  as  I  praise  thee,  ere  thro'  the  Dark  Lie 
Of  death  I  am  drawn! 


Sunk?  art  thou  sunken?  how  great  was  life! 
I  like  a  child  could  cry  for  it  again  — 
Cry  for  its  beauty,  pang,  fleeting  and  strife, 
Its  women,  its  men! 
70 


SONG-SURF  71 

For,  how  I  drained  it  with  love  and  delight! 
Opened  its  heart  with  the  magic  of  grief! 
Reaped  every  season  —  its  day  and  its  night! 
Loved  every  sheaf! 


Aye,  not  a  meadow  my  step  has  trod, 
Never  a  flower  swung  sweet  to  my  face, 
Never  a  heart  that  was  touched  of  God, 
But  taught  me  its  grace. 


Off  from  my  lids  then  a  moment  yet, 
Fingering  Death,  for  again  I  must  see 
Lifted  by  memory  all  that  I  met 
Under  Time's  lee. 


There!     .    .    .    I'm  a  child  again  —  fair,  so  fair! 
Under  the  eyes  does  a  marvel  not  burn  ? 
Speak  they  not  vision  —  and  frenzy  to  dare, 
That  still  in  me  yearn  ?     .     .     . 


i  SONG-SURF 

Youth!  my  wild  youth!  —  O,  blood  of  my  heart, 
Still  you  can  answer  with  swirling  the  thought! 
Still  like  the  mountain-born  rapid  can  dart, 
Joyous,  distraught!     .    .    . 


Love,  and  her  face  again!  there  by  the  wood!  — 
Come,  thou  invisible  Dark  with  thy  mask! 
Shall  I  not  learn  if  she  lives  ?  and  could 
I  more  of  thee  ask  ? 


Turn  me  away  from  the  ashen  west, 
Where  love's  sad  planet  unveils  to  the  dusk. 
Something  is  stealing  like  light  from  my  breast  — 
Soul  from  its  husk    .    . 


Soft!    .     .    .  Where  the  dead  feel  the  buried  dead, 
Where  the  high  hermit-bell  hourly  tolls, 
Bury  me,  near  to  the  haunting  tread 
Of  life  that  o'errolls. 


THE  OUTCAST 


I  DID  not  fear, 

But  crept  close  up  to  Christ  and  said, 

"Is  he  not  here?" 


They   drew   me   back  — 

The  seraphs  who  had  never  bled 

Of  weary  lack  — 

But  still  I  cried, 

With  torn  robe,  clutching  at  His  feet, 

"Dear  Christ!    He  died 

"So  long  ago! 

Is  he  not  here?    Three  days,  unfleet 

As  mortal  flow 

73 


74  SONG-SURF 

"Of  time  I've  sought  — 

Till  Heaven's   amaranthine  ways 

Seem  as  sere  nought!" 

A  grieving  stole 

Up  from  His  heart  and  waned  the  gaze 

Of  His  clear  soul 

Into  my  eyes. 

"He  is  not  here,"  troubled  He  sighed. 

"For  none  who  dies 

"Beliefless  may 

Bend  lips  to  this  sin-healing  Tide, 

And  live  alway." 

Then  darkness  rose 

Within  me,  and  drear  bitterness. 

Out  of  its  throes 

I  moaned,  at  last, 

"Let  me  go  hence !    Take  off  the  dress, 

The  charms  Thou  hast 


SONG-SURF  75 

"Around  me  strown! 
Beliefless  too  am  I  without 
His  love  —  and  lone!" 

Unto  the  Gate 

They  led  me,  tho'  with  pitying  doubt. 

I  did  not  wait 

But  stepped  across 

Its  portal,  turned  not  once  to  heed 

Or  know  my  loss. 

Then  my  dream  broke, 

And  with  it  every  loveless  creed  — 

Beneath  love's  stroke. 


APRIL 

A  LAUGHTER  of  wind  and  a  leaping  of  cloud, 

And  April,  oh,  out  under  the  blue! 
The  brook  is  awake  and  the  blackbird  loud 
In  the  dew! 


But  how  does  the  robin  high  in  the  beech, 

Beside  the  wood  with  its  shake  and  toss, 
Know  it  —  the  frenzy  of  bluets  to  reach 
Thro'  the  moss! 


And  where  did  the  lark  ever  learn  his  speech  ? 

Up,  wildly  sweet,  he's  over  the  mead! 
Is  more  than  the  rapture  of  earth  can  teach 
In  its  creed? 

76 


SONG-SURF  77 

I  never  shall  know  —  I  never  shall  care! 

'Tis,  oh,  enough  to  live  and  to  love! 
To  laugh  and  warble  and  dream  and  dare 
Are  to  prove! 


AUGUST  GUESTS 

THE  wind  slipt  over  the  hill 

And  down  the  valley. 
He  dimpled  the  cheek  of  the  rill 

With  a  cooling  kiss. 
Then  hid  on  the  bank  a-glee 

And  began  to  rally 
The  rushes— Oh, 

I  love  the  wind  for  this! 

A  cloud  blew  out  of  the  west 

And  spilt  his  shower 
Upon  the  lily-bud  crest 

And  the  clematis. 
Then  over  the  virgin  corn 

Besprinkled  a  dower 
Of  dew-gems  —  And, 

I  love  the  cloud  for  this! 
78 


TO  A  DOVE 

I 

THY  mellow  passioning  amid  the  leaves, 
That  tremble  dimly  in  the  summer  dusk, 
Falls  sad  along  the  oatland's  sallow  sheaves 
And  haunts  above  the  runnel's  voice  a-husk 
With  plashy  willow  and  bold-wading  reed. 
The  solitude's  dim  spell  it  breaketh  not, 
But  softer  mourns  unto  me  from  the  mead 
Than  airs  that  in  the  wood  intoning  start, 
Or  breath  of  silences  in  dells  begot 
To  soothe  some  grief-wan  soul  with  sin  a-smart. 


A  votaress  art  thou  of  Simplicity, 
Who  hath  one  fane  —  the  heaven  above  thy  nest; 
79 


8o  SONG-SURF 

One  incense  —  love;  one  stealing  litany 

Of  peace  from  rivered  vale  and  upland  crest. 

Yea,  thou  art  Hers,  who  makes  prayer  of  the  breeze, 

Hope  of  the  cool  upwelling  from  sweet  soils, 

Faith  of  the  darkening  distance,  charities 

Of  vesper  scents,  and  of  the  glow-worm's  throb 

Joy  whose  first  leaping  rends  the  care-wound  coils 

That  would  earth  of  its  heavenliness  rob. 


But  few,  how  few  her  worshippers!     For  we 
Cast  at  a  myriad  shrines  our  souls,  to  rise 
Beliefless,  unanointed,  bound  not  free, 
To  sacrificing  a  vain  sacrifice! 
Let  thy  lone  innocence  then  quickly  null 
Within  our  veins  doubt-led  and  wrong  desire — 
Or  drugging  knowledge  that  but  fills  o'erfull 
Of  feverous  mystery  the  days  we  drain! 
Be  thy  warm  notes  like  an  Orphean  lyre 
To  lead  us  to  life's  Arcady  again! 


AT  TINTERN  ABBEY 

(June,  1903) 

O  TINTERN,  Tintern!  evermore  my  dreams 
Troubled  by  thy  grave  beauty  shall  be  born; 
Thy  crumbling  loveliness  and  ivy  streams 
Shall  speak  to  me  for  ever,  from  this  morn; 
The  wind-wild  daws  about  thy  arches  drifting, 
Clouds  sweeping  o'er  thy  ruin  to  the  sea, 
Gray  Tintern,  all  the  hills  about  thee,  lifting 
Their  misty  waving  woodland  verdancy! 

The  centuries  that  draw  thee  to  the  earth 
In  envy  of  thy  desolated  charm, 
The  summers  and  the  winters,  the  sky's  girth 
Of  sunny  blue  or  bleakness,  seek  thy  harm. 
81 


8a  SONG-SURF 

But  would  that  I  were  Time,  then  only  tender 
Touch  upon  thee  should  fall  as  on  I  sped ; 
Of  every  pillar  would  I  be  defender, 
Of  every  mossy  window  —  of  thy  dead! 

Thy  dead  beneath   obliterated  stones 
Upon  the  sod  that  is  at  last  thy  floor, 
Who  list  the  Wye  not  as  it  lonely  moans 
Nor  heed  thy  Gothic  shadows  grieving  o'er. 
O  Tintern,  Tintern!  trysting-place,  where  never 
Are  wanting  mysteries  that  move  the  breast, 
I'll  hear  thy  beauty  calling,  ah,  for  ever  — 
Till  sinks  within  me  the  last  voice  to  rest! 


OH,  GO  NOT  OUT 


OH,  GO  not  out  upon  the  storm, 
Go  not,  my  sweet,  to  Swalchie  pool! 
A  witch  tho'  she  be  dead  may  charm 
Thee  and  befool. 


A  wild  night  'tis!  her  lover's  moan, 
Down  under  ooze  and  salty  weed, 
She'll  make  thee  hear  —  and  then  her  own! 
Till  thou  shalt  heed. 


And  it  will  suck  upon  thy  heart  — 
The  sorcery  within  her  cry  — 
Till  madness  out  of  thee  upstart, 
And  rage  to  die. 
83 


SONG-SURF 

For  him  she  loved,  she  laughed  to  death! 
And  as  afloat  his  chill  hand  lay, 
"Ha,  ha!  to  hell  I  sent  his  wraith!" 
Did  she  not  say  ? 

And  from  his  finger  strive  to  draw 
The  ring  that  bound  him  to  her  spell? 
Till  on  her  closed  his  hand  whose  awe 
No  curse  could  quell? 

Oh,  yea!  and  tho'  she  struggled  pale, 
Did  it  not  hold  her  cold  and  fast, 
Till  crawled  the  tide  o'er  rock  and  swale, 
To  her  at  last? 

Down  in  the  pool  where  she  was  swept 
He  holds  her —  Oh,  go  not  a-near! 
For  none  has  heard  her  cry  but  wept 
And  died  that  year. 


HUMAN  LOVE 

WE  SPOKE  of  God  and  Fate, 

And  of  that  Life  —  which  some  await 

Beyond  the  grave. 
"It  will  be  fair,"  she  said, 
"But  love  is  here! 
I  only  crave  thy  breast 
Not  God's  when  I  am  dead. 
For  He  nor  wants  nor  needs 

My  little  love. 
But  it  may  be,  if  I  love  thee 
And  those  whose  sorrow  daily  bleeds, 
He  knows  —  and  somehow  heeds!" 


ASHORE 

WHAT  are  the  heaths  and  hills  to  me? 

I'm  a-longing  for  the  sea! 
What  are  the  flowers  that  dapple  the  dell, 
And  the  ripple  of  swallow- wings  over  the  dusk; 
What  are  the  church  and  the  folk  who  tell 
Their  hearts  to  God?  —  my  heart  is  a  husk! 

(I'm  a-longing  for  the  sea!) 

Aye!  for  there  is  no  peace  to  me  — 

But  on  the  peaceless  sea! 
Never  a  child  was  glad  at  my  knee, 
And  the  soul  of  a  woman  has  never  been  mine. 
What  can  a  woman's  kisses  be  ?  — 
I  fear  to  think  how  her  arms  would  twine. 

(I'm  a-longing  for  the  sea!) 
86 


SONG-SURF  87 

So,  not  a  home  and  ease  for  me  — 

But  still  the  homeless  sea! 
Where  I  may  swing  my  sorrow  to  sleep 
In  a  hammock  hung  o'er  the  voice  of  the  waves, 
Where  I  may  wake  when  the  tempests  heap 
And  hurl  their  hate  —  and  a  brave  ship  saves. 

(I'm  a-longing  for  the  sea!) 

Then  when  I  die,  a  grave  for  me  - 

But  in  the  graveless  sea! 
Where  is  no  stone  for  an  eye  to  spell 
Thro'  the  lichen  a  name,  a  date  and  a  verse. 
Let  me  be  laid  in  the  deeps  that  swell 
And  sigh  and  wander  —  an  ocean  hearse ! 

(I'm  a-longing  for  the  sea!) 


THE  VICTORY 

SEE,  see!  —  the  blows  at  his  breast, 

The  abyss  at  his  back, 
The  perils  and  pains  that  pressed, 

The  doubts  in  a  pack, 
That  hunted  to  drag  him  down 

Have  triumphed?  and  now 
He  sinks,  who  climbed  for  the  crown 

To  the  Summit's  brow? 

No!  —  though  at  the  foot  he  lies, 

Fallen  and  vain, 
With  gaze  to  the  peak  whose  skies 

He  could  not  attain, 
The  victory  is,  with  strength  — 

No  matter  the  past!  — 
He'd  dare  it  again,  the  dark  length, 

And  the  fall  at  last! 


AT  WINTER'S  END 

THE  weedy  fallows  winter-worn, 
Where  cattle  shiver  under  sodden  hay. 
The  plough-lands  long  and  lorn  — 
The  fading  day. 


The  sullen  shudder  of  the  brook, 
And  winds  that  wring  the  writhen  trees  in  vain 
For  drearier  sound  or  look  — 
The  lonely  rain. 


The  crows  that  train  o'er  desert  skies 
In  endless  caravans  that  have  no  goal 
But  flight  —  where  darkness  flies  — 
From  Pole  to  Pole. 

89 


90  SONG-SURF 

The  sombre  zone  of  hills  around 
That  shrink  in  misty  mournfulness  from  sight, 
With  sunset  aureoles  crowned  — 
Before  the  night. 


MOTHER-LOVE 

THE  seraphs  would  sing  to  her 

And  from  the  River 

Dip  her  cool  grails  of  radiant  Life. 

The  angels  would  bring  to  her, 

Sadly  a-quiver, 

Laurels  she  never  had  won  in  earth-strife. 

And  often  they'd  fly  with  her 

O'er  the  star-spaces  — 

Silent  by  worlds  where  mortals  are  pent. 

Yea,  even  would  sigh  with  her, 

Sigh  with  wan  faces! 

When  she  sat  weeping  of  strange  discontent. 

But  one  said,  "Why  weepest  thou 

Here  in  God's  heaven  — 

Is  it  not  fairer  than  soul  can  see?" 


92  SONG-SURF 

"  'Tis  fair,  ah!  —  but  keepest  thou 
Not  me  depriven 

Of  some  one  —  somewhere  —  who  needeth  most 
me? 

"For  tho'  the  day  never  fades 

Over  these  meadows, 

Tho'  He  has  robed  me  and  crowned  —  yet,  yet! 

Some  love-fear  for  ever  shades 

All  with  sere  shadows  — 

Had  1  no  child  there  —  whom  I  forget  ? " 


TO  A  SINGING  WARBLER 

"BEAUTY!   all  —  all  —  is  beauty ?" 

Was  ever  a  bird  so  wrong! 
"No  young  in  the  nest,  no  mate,  no  duty?" 

Ribald!  is  this  your  song? 


"Glad  it  is  ended,"  are  you? 

The  Spring  and  its  nuptial  fear  ? 
"And  freedom  is  better  than  love?"  beware  you, 

There  will  be  May  next  year! 


"Beauty!"  again,  still  "beauty"? 

Wait  till  the  winter  comes! 
Till  kestrel  and  hungry  kite  seek  booty 

And  the  bleak  cold  benumbs! 
93 


94  SONG-SURF 

Wait  ?  nay,  fling  it  to  heaven 
The  false  little  song  you  prate! 

Too  sweet  are  its  fancies  not  to  leaven 
Even  the  rudest  fate! 


SONGS  TO  A.  H.  R. 


THE  WORLD'S,  AND  MINE 

THE  world  may  hear 
The  wind  at  his  trees, 
The  lark  in  her  skies, 
The  sea  on  his  leas; 
May  hear  Song  rise 
On  words  as  immortal 
As  any  that  sound 
Thro'  Heaven's  Portal. 
But  I  have  a  music  they  can  never  know  — 
The  touch  of  you,  soul  of  you,  heart  of  you,  Oh! 
All  else  that  is  said  or  sung  's  but  a  part  of  you  — 
Be  it  forever  so  ! 

95 


.  SONG-SURF 

II 
LOVE-CALL  IN  SPRING 

NOT  only  the  lark  but  the  robin  too 

(Oh,  heart  o'  my  heart,  come  into  the  wood!) 

Is  singing  the  air  to  gladness  new 

As  the  breaking  bud 

And  the  freshet's  flood! 

Not  only  the  peeping  grass  and  the  scent  — 
(Oh,  love  o'  my  life,  fly  unto  me  here!) 
Of  violets  coming  ere  April's  spent  — 

But  the  frog's  shrill  cheer 

And  the  crow's  wild  jeer! 

Not  only  the  blue,  not  only  the  breeze, 
(Oh,  soul  o'  my  heart,  why  tarry  so  long!) 
But  sun  that  is  sweeter  upon  the  trees 

Than  rills  that  throng 

To  the  brooklet's  song! 


SONG-SURF  97 

Oh,  heart  o'  my  heart,  oh,  heart  o'  my  love, 
(Oh  soul  o'  my  soul,  haste  unto  me,  haste!) 
For  spring  is  below  and  God  is  above  — 

But  all  is  a  waste 

Without  thee  — haste! 


Ill 


MATING 

THE  bliss  of  the  wind  in  the  redbud  ringing! 

What  shall  we  do  with  the  April  days! 
Kingcups  soon  will  be  up  and  swinging  — 

What  shall  we  do  with  May's ! 


The  cardinal  flings,  "They  are  made  for  mating! " 
Out  on  the  bough  he  flutters,  a  flame. 

Thrush-flutes  echo,  "For  mating's  elating! 
Love  is  its  other  name!" 


«  SONG-SURF 

They  know!  know  it!  but  better,  oh,  better, 
Dearest,  than  ever  a  bird  in  Spring, 

Know  we  to  make  each  moment  debtor 
Unto  love's  burgeoning! 

IV 
UNTOLD 

COULD  I,  a  poet, 

Implant  the  truth  of  you, 

Seize  it  and  sow  it 

As  Spring  on  the  world. 

There  were  no  need 

To  fling  (forsooth)  of  you 

Fancies  that  only  lovers  heed! 

No,  but  unfurled, 

The  bloom,  the  sweet  of  you, 

(As  unto  me  they  are  opened  oft) 

Would  with  their  beauty's  breath  repeat  of  you 

All  that  my  heart  breathes  loud  or  soft! 


SONG-SURF  99 

V 
LOVE-WATCH 

MY  LOVE'S  a  guardian-angel 

Who  camps  about  thy  heart, 
Never  to  flee  thine  enemy, 

Nor  from  thee  turn  apart. 

Whatever  dark  may  shroud  thee 

And  hide  thy  stars  away, 
With  vigil  sweet  his  wings  shall  beat 

About  thee  till  the  day. 

VI 
AT  AMALFI 

COME  to  the  window,  you  who  are  mine. 

Waken!  the  night  is  calling. 
Sit  by  me  here  —  with  the  moon's  fair  shine 

Into  your  deep  eyes  falling. 


ioo  SONG-SURF 

The  sea  afar  is  a  fearful  gloom; 

Lean  from  the  casement,  listen! 
Anear  it  breaks  with  a  faery  spume, 

Spraying  the  rocks  that  glisten. 


The  little  white  town  below  lies  deep 

As  eternity  in  slumber. 
O,  you  who  are  mine,  how  a  glance  can  reap 

Beauties  beyond  all  number! 


And,  how  as  sails  that  at  anchor  ride 
Our  spirits  rock  together 

On  a  sea  of  love  —  lit  as  this  tide 
With  tenderest  star-weather! 


Till  the  gray  dawn  is  redd'ning  up, 

Over  the  moon  low-lying. 
Come,  come  away  —  we  have  drunk  the  cup: 

Ours  is  the  dream  undying! 


SONG-SURF 
VII 

ON  THE  PACIFIC 
— ^» 

A  STORM  broods  far  on  the  foam  of  the  deep; 

The  moon-path  gleams  before. 
A  day  and  a  night,  a  night  and  a  day, 

And  the  way,  love,  will  be  o'er. 


Six  thousand  wandering  miles  we  have  come 

And  never  a  sail  have  seen. 
The  sky  above  and  the  sea  below 

And  the  drifting  clouds  between. 


Yet  in  our  hearts  unheaving  hope 
And  light  and  joy  have  slept. 

Nor  ever  lonely  has  seemed  the  wave 
Tho'  heaving  wild  it  leapt. 


SONG-SURF 

For  there  is  talismanic  might 

Within  our  vows  of  love 
To  breathe  us  over  all  seas  of  life  — 

On  to  that  Port,  above, 

Where  the  great  Captain  of  all  ships 
Shall  anchor  them  or  send 

Them  forth  on  a  vaster  Voyage,  yea, 
On  one  that  shall  not  end. 

And  upon  that  we  two,  I  think, 

Together  still  shall  sail. 
Oh,  may  it  be,  my  own,  or  may 

We  perish  in  death's  gale! 


THE  ATONER 

WINTER  has  come  in  sackcloth  and  ashes 
(Penance  for  Summer's  enverdured  sheaves), 
Bitterly,  cruelly,  bleakly  he  lashes 
His  limbs  that  are  naked  of  grass  and  leaves. 


He  moans  in  the  forest  for  sins  unforgiven 
(Sins  of  the  revelous  days  of  June)  - 
Moans  while  the  sun  drifts  dull  from  the  heaven, 
Giftless  of  heat's  beshriving  boon. 


Long  must  he  mourn,  and  long  be  his  scourging, 
(Long  will  the  day-god  aloof  frown  cold), 
Long  will  earth  listen  the  rue  of  his  dirging  — 
Till  the  dark  beads  of  his  days  are  told. 
103 


TO  THE  SPRING  WIND 

AH,  WHAT  a  changeling! 
Yester  you  dashed  from  the  west, 

Altho'  it  is  Spring, 

And  scattered  the  hail  with  maniac  zest 
Thro'  the  shivering  corn  —  in  scorn 
For  the  labour  of  God  and  man. 
And  now  from  the  plentiful  South  you  haste, 

With  lovingest  fingers, 
To  ruefully  lift  and  wooingly  fan 
The  lily  that  lingers  a-faint  on  the  stalk: 

As  if  the  chill  waste 

Of  the  earth's  May-dreams, 
The  flowers  so  full  of  her  joy, 

Were  not  —  as  it  seems  — 
A  wanton  attempt  to  destroy. 

104 


THE  RAMBLE 

DOWN  the  road  which  asters  tangle, 
Thro'  the  gap  where  green-briar  twines, 
By  the  path  where  dry  leaves  dangle 
Sere  from  the  ivv  vines 


We  go  —  by  sedgy  fallows 
And  along  the  stifled  brook, 
Till  it  stops  in  lushy  mallows 
Just  at  the  bridge's  crook. 


Then,  again,  o'er  fence,  thro*  thicket, 
To  the  mouth  of  the  rough  ravine, 
Where  the  weird  leaf-hidden  cricket 
Chirrs  thro'  the  weirder  green, 
105 


106  SONG-SURF 

There's  a  way,  o'er  rocks  —  but  quicker 
Is  the  beat  of  heart  and  foot, 
As  the  beams  above  us  flicker 
Sun  upon  moss  and  root! 


And  we  leap  —  as  wildness  tingles 
From  the  air  into  our  blood  — 
With  a  cry  thro'  golden  dingles 
Hid  in  the  heart  of  the  wood 


Oh,  the  wood  with  winds  a-wrestle! 
With  the  nut  and  acorn  strown! 
Oh,  the  wood  where  creepers  trestle 
Tree  unto  tree  o'ergrown ! 


With  a  climb  the  ledging  summit 
Of  the  hill  is  reached  in  glee. 
For  an  hour  we  gaze  off  from  it 
Into  the  sky's  blue  sea. 


SONG-SURF  107 

But  a  bell  and  sunset's  crimson 
Soon  recall  the  homeward  path. 
And  we  turn  as  the  glory  dims  on 
The  hay-field's  mounded  math. 


Thro'  the  soft  and  silent  twilight 
We  come,  to  the  stile  at  last, 
As  the  clear  undying  eyelight 
Of  the  stars  tells  day  is  past. 


RETURN 

AH,  IT  was  here  —  September 
And  silence  filled  the  air  — 
I  came  last  year  to  remember, 
And  muse,  hid  away  from  care. 
It  was  here  I  came  —  the  thistle 
Was  trusting  her  seed  to  the  wind; 
The  quail  in  the  croft  gave  whistle 
As  now  —  and  the  fields  lay  thinned. 

I  know  how  the  hay  was  steeping, 
Brown  mows  under  mellow  haze; 
How  a  frail  cloud-flock  was  creeping 
As  now  over  lone  sky-ways. 
Just  there  where  the  catbird's  calling 
Her  mock-hurt  note  by  the  shed, 
The  use-worn  wain  was  stalling 
In  the  weedy  brook's  dry  bed. 
108 


SONG-SURF  109 

And  the  cricket,  lone  little  chimer 
Of  day-long  dreams  in  the  vines, 
Chirred  on  like  a  doting  rhymer 
O'er-vain  of  his  firstling  lines. 
He's  near  me  now  by  the  aster, 
Beneath  whose  shadowy  spray 
A  sultry  bee  seeps  faster 
As  the  sun  slips  down  the  day. 

And  there  are  the  tall  primroses 
Like  maidens  waiting  to  dance. 
They  stood  in  the  same  shy  poses 
Last  year,  as  if  to  entrance 
The  stately  mulleins  to  waken 
From  death  and  lead  them  around: 
And  still  they  will  stand  untaken, 
Till  drops  their  gold  to  the  ground. 

Yes,  it  was  here  —  September 
And  silence  round  me  yearned. 
Again  I've  come  to  remember, 


no  SONG-SURF 

Again  for  musing  returned 
To  the  searing  fields'  assuaging, 
And  the  falling  leaves'  sad  balm: 
Away  from  the  world's  keen  waging  — 
To  harvest  and  hills  and  calm. 


LISETTE 

OH    .     .     .    there  was  love  in  her  heart  —  no  doubt 

of  it  — 

Under  the  anger. 
But  see  what  came  out  of  it! 

Not  a  knave,  he !  —  A  smitten  rhyme-smatterer, 

Cloaking  in  languor 
And  heartache  to  flatter  her. 

And  just  as  a  woman  will  —  even  the  best  of  them  — 

She  yielded  —  brittle. 
God  spare  me  the  rest  of  them! 

For!  though  but  kisses  — she  swore!  — he  had  of  her, 

Was  it  so  little? 

She  thought  'twas  not  bad  of  her, 
in 


iia  SONG-SURF 

Said  I  would  lavish  a  burning  hour-full 

On  any  grisette. 
And  silenced  me,  powerful! 

But  she  was  mine,  and  blood  is  inflammable  — 

For  a  Lisette! 
My  rage  was  undammable.     .     .     . 

Could  a  stiletto's  one  prick  be  prettier  ? 

Look  at  the  gaping. 
No?  —  then  you're  her  pitier! 

Pah!  she's  the  better,   and  I     ...     Fm  your 

prisoner. 

Loose  me  the  strapping  — 
I'll  lay  one  more  kiss  on  her. 


FROM  ONE  BLIND 

I  CANNOT  say  thy  cheek  is  like  the  rose, 
Thy  hair  like  rippled  sunbeams,  and  thine  eyes 
Like  violets,  April-rich  and  sprung  of  God. 
My  barren  gaze  can  never  know  what  throes 
Such  boons  of  beauty  waken,  tho'  I  rise 
Each  day  a-tremble  with  the  ruthless  hope 
That  light  will  pierce  my  useless  lids  —  then  grope 
Till  night,  blind  as  the  worm  within  his  clod. 

Yet  unto  me  thou  art  not  less  divine, 

I  touch  thy  cheek  —  and  know  the   mystery  hid 

Within  the  twilight  breeze;  I  smooth  thy  hair 

And  understand  how  slipping  hours  may  twine 

Themselves  into  eternity:  yea,  rid 

Of  all  but  love,  I  kiss  thine  eyes  and  seem 

To  see  all  beauty  God  Himself  may  dream. 

Why  then  should  I  o'ermuch  for  earth-sight  care? 


IN  A  CEMETERY 

WHEN  Autumn's  melancholy  robes  the  land 
With  silence,  and  sad  fadings  mystical 
Of  other  years  move  thro'  the  mellow  fields, 
I  turn  unto  this  meadow  of  the  dead, 
Strewn  with  the  leaves  stormed  from  October  trees, 
And  wonder  if  my  resting  shall  be  dug 
Here  by  this  cedar's  moan  or  under  the  sway 
Of  yonder  cypress  —  lair  of  winds  that  rove 
As  Valkyries  sent  from  Valhalla's  court 
In  search  of  worthy  slain. 
And  sundry  times  with  questioning  I  tease 
The  entombed  of  their  estate  —  seeking  to  know 
Whether  'tis  sweeter  in  the  grave  to  feel 
The  oblivion  of  Nature's  silent  flow, 
Or  here  to  wander  wistful  o'er  her  face. 
Whether  the  harvesting  of  pain  and  joy 
114 


SONG-SURF  115 

Which  men  call  Life  ends  so,  or  whether  death 
Pours  the  warm  chrism  of  Immortality 
Into  each  human  heart  whose  glow  is  spent. 

And  oft  the  Silence  hears  me.     For  a  voice 
Of  sighing  wind  may  answer,  or  a  gaze, 
Though  wordless,  from  a  marble  seraph's  face. 
Or  sometimes  from  unspeakable  deeps  of  gold, 
That  ebb  along  the  west,  revealings  wing 
And  tremble,  like  ethereal  swift  tongues 
Unskilled  of  human  speech,  about  my  heart  — 
Till  youth,  age,  death,  even  earth's  all,  it  seems, 
Are  but  brave  moments  wakened  in  that  Soul, 
To  whom  infinities  are  as  a  span, 
Eternities  as  bird-flights  o'er  the  sun, 
And  worlds  as  sands  blown  from  Sahara's  wilds 
Into  the  ceaseless  surging  of  the  sea.     .     .     . 

Then  twilight  hours  lead  back  my  wandered  spirit 
From  out  the  wilderness  of  mystery 
Whence  none  may  find  a  path  to  the  Unknown, 
And  chastened  to  content  I  turn  me  home. 


WAKING 

OH,  THE  long  dawn,  the  weary,  endless  dawn, 
When  sleep's  oblivion  is  torn  away 
From  love  that  died  with  dying  yesterday 
But  still  unburied  in  the  heart  lies  on! 


Oh,  the  sick  gray,  the  twitter  in  the  trees, 
The  sense  of  human  waking  o'er  the  earth! 
The  quivering  memories  of  love's  fair  birth 
Now  strown  as  deathless  flowers  o'er  its  decease! 


Oh,  the  regret,  and  oh,  regretlessness, 
Striving  for  sovranty  within  the  soul! 
Oh,  fear  that  life  shall  never  more  be  whole, 
And  immortality  but  make  it  less! 
116 


STORM-EBB 

DUSKING  amber  dimly  creeps 

Over  the  vale, 
Lit  by  the  kildee's  silver  sweeps, 

Sad  with  his  wail. 


Eastward  swing  the  silent  clouds 

Into  the  night. 
Burdens  of  day  they  seem  —  in  crowds 

Hurled  from  earth's  sight. 


Tilting  gulls  whip  whitely  far 

Over  the  lake, 
Tirelessly  on  o'er  buoy  and  spar 

Till  they  o'ertake 
117 


n8  SONG-SURF 

Shadow  and  mingled  mist  —  and  then 

Vanish  to  wing 
Still  the  bewildering  night-fen, 

Where  the  waves  ring. 


Dusking  amber  dimly  dies 

Out  of  the  vale. 
Dead  from  the  dunes  the  winds  arise  — 

Ghosts  of  the  gale. 


LINGERING 


I  LINGERED  still  when  you  were  gone, 
When  tryst  and  trust  were  o'er, 

While  memory  like  a  wounded  swan 
In  sorrow  sung  love's  lore. 


I  lingered  till  the  whippoorwill 
Had  cried  delicious  pain 

Over  the  wild-wood  —  in  its  thrill 
I  heard  your  voice  again. 


I  lingered  and  the  mellow  breeze 
Blew  to  me  sweetly  dewed  — 

Its  touch  awoke  the  sorceries 
Your  last  caresses  brewed. 
119 


xao  SONG-SURF 

But  when  the  night  with  silent  start 
Had  sown  her  starry  seed, 

The  harvest  which  sprang  in  my  heart 
Was  loneliness  and  need. 


FAUN-CALL 

OH,  WHO  is  he  will  follow  me 

With  a  singing, 
Down  sunny  roads  where  windy  odes 

Of  the  woods  are  ringing? 


Where  leaves  are  tossed  from  branches  lost 

In  a  tangle 
Of  vines  that  vie  to  clamber  high  — 

But  to  vault  and  dangle! 


Oh,  who  is  he  ?  —  His  eye  must  be 

As  a  lover's 
To  leap  and  woo  the  chicory's  hue 

In  the  hazel-hovers! 

121 


122  SONG-SURF 

His  hope  must  dance  like  radiance 

That  hurries 
To  scatter  shades  from  the  silent  glades 

Where  the  quick  hare  scurries. 


And  he  must  see  that  Autumn's  glee 

And  her  laughter 
From  his  lips  and  heart  will  quell  all  smart 

Of  before  and  after! 


THE  LIGHTHOUSEMAN 

WHEN  at  evening  smothered  lightnings 
Burn  the  clouds  with  fretted  fires; 
When  the  stars  forget  to  glisten, 
And  the  winds  refuse  to  listen 
To  the  song  of  my  desires, 
Oh,  my  love,  unto  thee! 

When  the  livid  breakers  angered 
Churn  against  my  stormy  tower; 
When  the  petrel  flying  faster 
Brings  an  omen  to  the  master 
Of  his  vessel's  fated  hour  — 
Oh,  the  reefs!  ah,  the  sea! 

Then  I  climb  the  climbing  stairway, 
Turn  the  light  across  the  storm; 

123 


124  SONG-SURF  '     - 

You  are  watching,  fisher-maiden 
For  the  token-flashes  laden 
With  a  love  death  could  not  harm  — 
Lo,  they  come,  swift  and  free ! 

One —  that  means,  "I  think  of  thee!" 

Two — "I   swear  me   thine!" 
Three  —  Ah,  hear  me  tho'  you  sleep ! — 

Is,  that  I  know  thee  mine! 
Thro'  the  darkness,  One,  Two,  Three, 

All  the  night  they  sweep: 
Thro7  raging  darkness  o'er  the  deep, 

One  — and  Two  — and  Three. 


SERENITY 

AND  could  I  love  it  more  —  this  simple  scene 
Of  cot-strewn  hills  and  fields  long-harvested, 
That  lie  as  if  forgotten  were  all  green, 
So  bare,  so  dead! 


Or  could  my  gaze  more  tenderly  entwine 
Each  pallid  beech  and  silvery  sycamore 
Outreaching  arms  in  patience  to  divine 
If  winter's  o'er? 


Ah  no,  the  wind  has  blown  into  my  veins 
The  blue  infinity  of  sky,  the  sense 
Of  meadows  free  to-day  from  icy  pains  — 
From  wintry  vents. 
125 


126  SONG-SURF 

And  sunny  peace  more  virgin  than  the  glow 
Falling  from  eve's  first  star  into  the  night, 
Brings  hope  believing  what  it  ne'er  can  know 
With  mortal  sight. 


WANTON    JUNE 

I  KNEW  she  would  come! 
Sarcastic  November 
Laughed  cold  and  glum 
On  the  last  red  ember 
Of  forest  leaves. 
He  was  laughing,  the  scorner, 
At  me  forlorner 
Than  any  that  grieves  — 
Because  I  asked  him  if  June  would  come! 

But  I  knew  she  would  come 
When  snow-hearted  winter 
Gripped  river  and  loam, 
And  the  wind  sped  flinter 
On  icy  heel, 

127 


ia8  SONG-SURF 

I  was  chafing  my  sorrow 
And  yearning  to  borrow 
A  hope  that  would  steal 
Across  the  hours  —  till  June  should  come, 


And  now  she  is  here  — 
The  wanton !  —  I  follow 
Her  steps,  ever  near, 
To  the  shade  of  the  hollow 
Where  violets  blow: 
And  chide  her  for  leaving, 
Tho'  half  believing 
She  taunted  me  so, 
To  make  her  abided  return  more  dear. 


SPIRIT  OF  RAIN 

(MlYANOSHITA,    JAPAN,    1905) 

SPIRIT  of  rain  — 
With  all  thy  mountain  mists  that  wander  lonely 

As  a  gray  train 
Of  souls  newly  discarnate  seeking  new  life  only! 

Spirit  of  rain! 
Leading  them  thro'  dim  torii,  up  fane- ways  onward 

Till  not  in  vain 

They  tremble  upon  the  peaks  and  plunge  rejoicing 
dawnward. 

Spirit  of  rain! 
So  would  I  lead  my  dead  thoughts  high  and  higher, 

Till  they  regain 

Birth  and  the  beauty  of  a  new  life's  fire. 
129 


AUTUMN  AT  THE  BRIDGE 

BROWN  dropping  of  leaves, 
Soft  rush  of  the  wind, 
Slow  searing  of  sheaves 

On  the  hill; 

Green  plunging  of  frogs, 
Cool  lisp  of  the  brook, 
Far  barking  of  dogs 

At  the  mill; 
Hot  hanging  of  clouds, 
High  poise  of  the  hawk, 
Flush  laughter  of  crowds 

From  the  Ridge; 
Nut-falling,  quail-calling, 
Wheel-rumbling,   bee-mumbling  — 
Oh,  sadness,  gladness,  madness, 
Of  an  autumn  day  at  the  bridgel 
130 


TEARLESS 

Do  WOMEN  weep  when  men  have  died? 

It  cannot  be! 

For  I  have  sat  here  by  his  side, 
Breathing  dear  names  against  his  face, 
That  he  must  list  to,  were  his  place 

Over  God's  throne  — 
Yet  have  I  wept  no  tear  and  made  no  moan. 


Do  women  weep  —  not  gaze  stone-eyed? 

Grief  seems  in  vain. 
Do  women  weep  ?  —  I  was  his  bride  — 
They  brought  him  to  me  cold  and  pale  — 
Upon  his  lids  I  saw  the  trail 

Of  deathly  pain. 
They  said,  "  Her  tears  will  fall  like  autumn  rain." 


i32  SONG-SURF 

I  cannot  weep!     Not  if  hot  tears, 

Dropped  on  his  lids, 
Might  burn  hi  n  back  to  life  and  years 
Of  yearning  love,  would  any  rise 
To  flood  the  anguish  from  my  eyes  — 

And  I'm  his  bride! 
Ah  me,  do  women  weep  when  men  have  died  ? 


SUNSET-LOVERS 

UPON  how  many  a  hill, 

Across  how  many  a  field, 

Beside  how  many  a  river's  restful  flowing, 

They  stand,  with  eyes  a-thrill, 

And  hearts  of  day-rue  healed, 

Gazing,  O  wistful  sun,  upon  thy  going! 

They  have  forgotten  life, 

Forgotten  sunless  death; 

Desire  is  gone  —  is  it  not  gone  for  ever? 

No  memory  of  strife 

Have  they,  or  pain-sick  breath. 

No  hopes  to  fear  or  fears  hope  cannot  sever. 

Silent  the  gold  steals  down 
The  west,  and  mystery 


134  SONG-SURF 

Moves  deeper  in  their  hearts  and  settles  darker. 

'Tis  faded  —  the  day's  crown; 

But  strange  and  shadowy 

They  see  the  Unseen  as  night  falls  stark  and  starker. 

Like  priests  whose  altar  fires 

Are  spent,  immovable 

They  stand,  in  awful  ecstasy  uplifted. 

Zephyrs  awake  tree-lyres, 

The  starry  deeps  are  full, 

Earth  with  a  mystic  majesty  is  gifted. 

Ah,  sunset-lovers,  though 

Time  were  but  pulsing  pain, 

And  death  no  more  than  its  eternal  ceasing, 

Would  you  not  choose  the  throe, 

Hold  the  oblivion  vain, 

To  have  beheld  so  many  a  day's  releasing? 


THE  EMPTY  CROSS 

THE  eve  of  Golgotha  had  come, 

And  Christ  lay  shrouded  in  the  garden  Tomb: 

Among  the  olives,  Oh,  how  dumb, 

How  sad  the  sun  incarnadined  the  gloom! 

The  hill  grew  dim  —  the  pleading  cross 
Reached  empty  arms  toward  the  closing  gate. 
Jerusalem,  oh,  count  thy  loss! 
Oh,  hear  ye!  hear  ye!  ere  it  be  too  late! 


Reached  bleeding  arms  —  but  how  in  vain! 
The  murmurous  multitude  within  the  wall 
Already  had  forgot  His  pain  — 
To-morrow  would  forget  the  cross  —  and  all! 


136  SONG-SURF 

They  knew  not  Rome,  before  its  sign, 
Bending  her  brow  bound  with  the  nations'  threne, 
Would  sweep  all  lands  from  Nile  to  Rhine 
In  servitude  unto  the  Nazarene. 

Nor  knew  that  millions  would  forsake 
Ancestral  shrines  great  with  the  glow  of  time, 
And  lifting  up  its  token  shake 
Aeons  with  thrill  of  love  or  battle's  crime. 

With  empty  arms  aloft  it  stood: 

Ah,  Scribe  and  Pharisee,  ye  builded  well! 

The  cross  emblotted  with  His  blood 

Mounts,  highest  Hope  of  men,  against  earth's  hell! 


UNBURTHENED 

Not  grief  nor  the  sunny  wine 

Of  gladness  steeps  my  spirit  as  I  gaze 

Over  these  meads  that  lie  engarmented 

In  stubble  robes  of  winter-weary  brown. 

For,  as  those  solitary  trees  afar 

Have  reached  unbudding  boughs  to  the  dim  day 

And  melted  on  the  infinite  calm  of  space, 

So  have  I  reached,  and  am  no  more  distraught 

With  the  quivering  pangs  of  memory's  yesterday. 

But  the  boon  of  blue  skies  deeper  than  despair, 

Of  rest  that  rises  as  a  tide  of  sleep, 

Of  care  borne  on  the  plumes  of  swan-swift  clouds 

Away  to  the  sullen  shades  of  the  low  west, 

Have  lulled  my  soul  with  soft  infinitude  — 

And  lent  it  faith's  illimitable  Peace. 


SONG 


HER  voice  is  vibrant  beauty  dipt 

In  dreams  of  infinite  sorrow  and  delight. 

Thro*  an  awaiting  soul  'tis  slipt 

And  lo,  words  spring  that  breathe  immortal  might. 


138 


TO  HER  WHO  SHALL  COME 


OUT  of  the  night  of  lovelessness  I  call 
Thee,  as,  in  a  chill  chamber  where  no  rays 
Of  unbelievable  light  and  freedom  fall, 
Might  cry  one  manacled!     And  tho'  the  ways 
Thou'lt  come  I  cannot  see;  tho'  my  heart's  sore 
With  emptiness  when  morning's  silent  grays 
Wake  me  to  long  aloneness;  yet  I  know 
Thou  hast  been  with  me,  who  like  dawn  wilt  go 
Beside  me,  when  I  have  found  thee,  evermore  I 


So  in  the  garden  of  my  heart  each  day 

I  plant  thee  a  flower.     Now  the  pansy,  peace, 

And  now  the  lily,  faith  —  or  now  a  spray 

Of  the  climbing  ivy,  hope.     And  they  ne'er  cease 


140  SONG-SURF 

Around  the  still  unblossoming  rose  of  love 
To  bend  in  fragrant  tribute  to  her  sway. 
Then  —  for  thy  shelter  from  life's  sultrier  suns, 
The  oak  of  strength  I  set  o'er  joy  that  runs 
With  brooklet  glee  from  winds  that  grieve  above. 

3 

B ut  where  now  art  thou  ?     Watching  with  love's  eye 
The  eve-star  wander  ?    Listening  through  dim  trees 
Some  thrilled  muezzin  of  the  forest  cry 
From  his  leafy  minaret  ?     Or  by  the  sea's 
Blue  brim,  while  the  spectral  moon  half  o'er  it  hangs 
Like  the  faery  isle  of  Avalon,  do  these 
My  yearnings  speak  to  thee  of  days  thy  feet 
Have  never  trod  ?  —  Sweet,  sweet,  oh,  more  than 

sweet, 
My  own,  must  be  our  meeting's  mystic  pangs. 

4 

And  will  be  soon!     For  last  night  near  to-day, 
Dreaming,   God  called  me  thro'   the  space-built 
sphere 


SONG-SURF  141 

Of  heaven  and  said,  "Come,  waiting  one,  and  lay 
Thine  ear  unto  my  Heart  —  there  thou  shalt  hear 
The  secrets  of  this  world  where  evils  war." 
Such  things  I  heard  as  must  rend  mortal  clay 
To  tell,  and  trembled  —  till  God,  pitying, 
Said,  "Listen"     .     .     .     Oh,  my  love,  I  heard  thee 

sing 
Out  of  thy  window  to  the  morning  star! 


STORM-TWILIGHT 

TOSSING,  swirling,  swept  by  the  wind, 
Beaten  abaft  by  the  rain, 

The  swallows  high  in  the  sodden  sky 
Circle  oft  and  again. 


They  rise  and  sink  and  drift  and  swing, 

Twitterless  in  the  chill; 
A-haste,  for  stark  is  the  coming  dark 

Over  the  wet  of  the  hill. 


Wildly,  swiftly,  at  last  they  stream 
Into  their  chimney  home. 

A  livid  gash  in  the  west,  a  crash — 
Then  silence,  sadness,  gloam. 
142 


SLAVES 

A  HOST  of  bloody  centuries  lie  prone 

Upon  the  fields  of  Time  —  but  still  the  wake 

Of  Progress  loud  is  haunted  with  the  groan 

Of  myriads,  from  whose  peaceful  veins,  to  slake 

His  scarlet  thirst,  has  War,  fierce  Polypheme 

Of  fate,  insatiately  drunk  life's  stream. 

We  bid  the  courier  lightning  leap  along 

Its  instant  path  with  spirit  speed  —  command 

Stars  lost  in  night-eternity  to  throng 

Before  the  magnet  eye  of  Science  —  stand 

On  Glory's  peak  and  triumphingly  cry 

Out  mastery  of  earth  and  sea  and  air. 

But  unto  War's  necessity  we  bare 

Our  piteous  breasts  —  and  impotently  die. 


143 


AVOWAL  TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE 

THO'  thou  hast  ne'er  unpent  thy  pain's  delight 
Upon  these  airs,  bird  of  the  poet's  love, 
Yet  must  I  sing  thy  singing!     For  the  Night 
Has  poured  her  jewels  o'er  the  lap  of  heaven 
As  they  who  hear  thee  say  thou  dost  above 
The  wood  such  ecstasies  as  were  not  given 
By  nestling  breasts  of  Venus  to  the  dove. 

2 

Oft  have  I  watched  the  moon  with  her  fair  gold 
Still  clung  to  by  the  tattered  mists  of  day 
Arise  and  look  for  thee.     Then  hope  grew  bold. 
And  almost  I  could  see  how  the  near  laurels 
Would  tremble  with  thy  trembling:  but  the  sway 
Of  bards  who  wreathed  thee  with  unfading  chorals 
Has  held  my  longing  lips  from  this  poor  lay. 
144 


SONG-SURF  145 

3 

But  take  it  now.     And  if  the  lark  —  who  is 

Too  high  for  earth  —  may  vie  for  praise  with  thee 

In  aery  rhapsody,  yet  it  is  his 

To  sing  of  day  and  joy,  while  thou  of  sorrow 

And  night  o'erhovering  singest.     So  thou'lt  be 

More  dear  than  he  —  till  hearts  shall  cease  to  borrow 

From  grief  the  healing  for  life's  mystery. 


WILDNESS 

To  drift  with  the  drifting  clouds, 

And  blow  with  the  blow  of  breezes, 

To  ripple  with  waves  and  murmur  with  caves 

To  soar,  as  the  sea-mew  pleases! 

To  dip  with  the  dipping  sails, 
And  burn  with  the  burning  heaven  — 
My  life!  my  soul!  for  the  infinite  roll 
Of  a  day  to  wildness  given! 


146 


BEFORE  AUTUMN 

SUMMER'S  last  moon  has  waned  — 

Waned 
As  amber  fires 

Of  an  Aztec  shrine. 

The  invisible  breath  of  coming  death  has  stained 
The  withering  leaves  with  its  nepenthean  wine  — 

Autumn's  near. 

Winds  in  the  woodland  moan  — 

Moan 
As  memories 

Of  a  chilling  yore. 

Magnolia  seeds  like  Indian  beads  are  strown 
From  crimson  pods  along  the  earth's  sere  floor  - 

Autumn's  near. 


I48  SONG-SURF 

Solitude  slowly  steals, 

Steals 
Her  silent  way 

By  the  songless  brook. 

At  the  gnarly  yoke  of  a  solemn  oak  she  kneels, 
The  musing  joy  of  sadness  in  her  look  — 

Autumn's  near. 

Yes,  with  her  golden  days  — 

Days 
When  hope  and  toil 

Are  at  peace  and  rest  — 
Autumn  is  near,  and  the  tired  year  'mid  praise 
Lies  down  with  leaf  and  blossom  on  his  breast  — 

Autumn's  near. 


FULFILMENT 

A-BASK  in  the  mellow  beauty  of  the  ripening  sun, 
Sad  with  the  lingering  sense  of  summer's  purpose 

done, 
The  shorn  and  searing  fields  stretch  from  me  one  by 

one 

Along  the  creek. 

The  corn-stalks  drop  their  shadows  down  the  fallow 

hill; 

Wearing  autumnal  warmth  the  farm  sleeps  by  the  mill, 
Around  each  heavy  eave  low  smoke  hangs  blue  and 

still  — 

Life's  flow  is  weak. 

Along  the  weedy  roads  and  lanes  I  walk  —  or  pause  — 
Ponder  a  fallen  nut  or  quirking  crow  whose  caws 
Seem  with  prehuman  hintings  fraught  or  ancient  awes 
Of  forest  deeps. 
149 


ISO  SONG-SURF 

Of  forest  deeps  the  pale-face  hunter  never  trod, 
Nor  Indian,  with  the  silent  stealth  of  Nature  shod ; 
Deeps  tense  with  the  timelessness  and  solitude  of  God, 
Who  never  sleeps. 

And  many  times  has  Autumn,  on  her  harvest  way, 
Gathered  again  into  the  earth  leaf,  fruit,  and  spray; 
Here  many  times  dwelt  rueful  as  she  dwells  to-day, 
The  while  she  reaps. 


LAST  SIGHT  OF  LAND 
:> 

THE  clouds  in  woe  hang  far  and  dim: 

I  look  again,  and  lo, 
Only  a  faint  and  shadow  line 

Of  shore  —  I  watch  it  go. 


The  gulls  have  left  the  ship  and  wheel 
Back  to  the  cliff's  gray  wraith. 

Will  it  be  so  of  all  our  thoughts 
When  we  set  sail  on  Death? 


And  what  will  the  last  sight  be  of  life 

As  lone  we  fare  and  fast  ? 
Grief  and  the  face  we  love  in  mist  — 

Then  night  and  awe  too  vast  ? 


152  SONG-SURF 

Or  the  dear  light  of  Hope  —  like  that, 
Oh,  see,  from  the  lost  shore 

Kindling  and  calling  "Onward,  you 
Shall  reach  the  Evermore!" 


SILENCE 

SILENCE  is  song  unheard, 

Is  beauty  never  born, 
Is  light  forgotten  —  left  unstirred 

Upon  Creation's  mom. 

THE  END 


153 


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